San Marcos

Since I stopped the flow Of primordial ciswhite straight men Whom I heedlessly collect And from whom the spring feeds Without reason I have been Shopping so much more Than suits a prophet in the forest. A man said he felt like an awful cad But an admission as such Does not irrigate a dry spell Once it’s surpassed the length Of a petty offense record Because the body’s memory is not so Mutated by language And there’s very little pleasure in force When the subject is inertia. I used to leave as soon as The mysterious chemistry worked out Now I am both the one who leaves And the one who stays Eco-novelty is rare and common And each design reforms The future and the last.