contortions

Of weight and immeasurable wind
that blows between us
and staggers home from Saturday
night, alone in the bars, the last one
the only one that didn't throw it out
into the streets on it's ass.
But then I thought, and when it happened
the thought that I thought I thought, was
not what I thought at all. It was something
different all together. So where does that
leave things? With Christopher Robbin
fucking Pooh in the ass on the very
blustery day? I doubt it. I doubt so many
things. But of weight and immesurable winds
that blow between us, I dream of tearing
McDonalds apart for serving us bad food.