Address

Right hand graced with writing, my left arm my secondhand new suit bestrode, from the auto I say, “Antinous, perched like a parakeet cracking sunflower seeds in a hot ice cave or cage, you’re an apogee. Acid pennies will fill your mouth, your head bowl at a soldiers’ revel. Fly the safety you despise and seek, a butcher with a butcher’s knife peers. The lice are fast. Ta ta.”