Our fat years
were a disappointment,
excess was banal
before exciting.
It is when
the patch in your bangs
went stark white.
For no reason.
Things were alright then,
much money, yes;
sublimating the self
for the us.
There is not a finite
amount of this.
Though that would
be easier.
Remember how your jobs
at the gas stations
afforded you time for
reading?
I Lady Macbeth'd,
you said don't mess this
up. I didn't. But
how did we get to
"you are so bitch,"
and indifference.
