I used to consider myself
The most normal of specimens,

And thus, felt it odd
To utter a single word.

The regular consequences
Of having been born.

But everything I want
Is on the other side of shamelessness.

Oh, voluble spirits of detritus,
Tell me what I ought to pen.

I’ll take a listening walk,
Meditate upon the content of posts.

While all of life lunges forth
Into the maw that is the universe,

It feels about time
To return to just saying things.

Ibuprofen. Telluride. Pretty.
A candidate full of worms.

Oh.
Oh, thank you.