You'll never raise an army
How many t shirts is the ass model pushing
I'll never sell more books
than ice cream I've scooped
Everything is in its natural order
Is trying to want the same as wanting
I am trying to want
to be invisible
You can call all shit manure
The woman who admitted to lying
about Emmett Till lived to 88
Drive your car into a building
Become an accountant
Two hands come together
The left is men who’d die for women in linen dresses
and birth gay children and the right—
clinically depressed graphic designers.
Together, they promote probiotic supplements.
Time isn't a flat circle, culture is.
All differences are word choice, aesthetic.
Our first trans president will be in the pocket
of Tony The Tiger’s gainsmaxxxing incel nephew, Brotein Barry
while the new generation will reinvent the world
exactly the same.
Your Miami uncle rolls over teary-eyed
from last night’s veal dinner
and crushes a model UN model
and the sovereign globe of financial incentives
she clutches like a teddy.
We are a screen away
from industry's oldest profession
and your girlfriend believes in revolution
as a woman tucking a dollar into a g-string.
For universal appeal, I will change my gender
so I can be hated by everyone once in my lifetime
Asking for a friend
Doc, what’s the condition
of someone who rewatches
the same three sitcoms
for ten years straight?
The doctor googles
Where is my money?
and punches the autism
out of a claims adjuster
That will be $4000,
an immigrant’s origin story,
or 27000 emails
at whatever reeducation corporation
allows you to ogle
your married screenmates
at the rate of mild, persistent discomfort.
I ask What about my insurance?
I pass the secretary who quickly minimizes
a line chart illustrating
the decline of sexually active
while the waiting room stares
righteously into an unearthed tweet
from the current world’s hottest person
that says ‘To change a nazi, love a nazi.’
Unfortunately, insurance only covers
your mother’s favorite memory
of your childhood repurposed
as a pyramid scheme.
Wherever the bad guys are,
whoever you want them to be,
we’ll need a payment today–
$35, cash or credit
had a plan
to follow summer
around the world
Got as far
Take you to dinner
Entering my prime, ‘96 Jordan.
Women turned on by reliability.
Men who don't talk too much.
Benevolent authority is a dying art.
Democracy is a neutered dog,
advert for dog whistles,
Slack groups you've never even dreamed of, buddy.
Me? I bide my time doing [REDACTED].
Houellebecq was right
when he told a reporter there’s access
only groupies are allowed.
The most edgelord artists are usually
painfully normal irl.
#ImportantStories peddled by bloodthirsty empaths
and the ant line passing the buck backwards.
Push-ups between stanzas,
I'd weld the Liberty Bell back together
through the pure heat of passion,
just to break it again
but then again, there are better things to do
than make a name for yourself