I feel really bad about that
because I know you, my dear, sweet reader
really missed the poem I missed yesterday.
But I swear to you and I mean this sincerely:
You missed nothing. My head was full of
baguettes and my soul was stuffed with olives.
My legs and toes were crammed with that
pink insulation stuff and my chest was
heaving drastic teardrops that fell as far
as a hundred feet or more before
dissolving into a pool of all the
teardrops that have already dropped.
Seriously salty up in this mutha.
