Sorry, sir, but only the left brake is on
"'Apologies for the convenience'"
Only left turns are available,
Meaning hot food items have to travel in the left hand,
The right shoulder occupied by those flies that make
The journey, unlike those who wiped
Off the face to
Make me recall when
Exactly
It was, the first time I
Decided not to kill the spider, but escort it outside,
And isn't killing flies by cycling into them
Also killing spiders?
By continuing to exist I am
Putting myself, Bolivia, Guinea-Bissau, Cuba, Angola,
Argenina, here, others, at risk of
More poetry
Specifically
By me
And,
Precisely,
It's the risk of writing three ideas at once and
The risk of revealing the limitations of each idea,
With every connection cloaked in
A lack of the real connection required for a story
Like Che's,
Or the last time I bought hot food items on the way home,
Dropping a can of ginger beer painfully slowly against the inside of the Porter's fridge door,
Exploding it, spraying it, arching it
Precisely
Onto the face of the young radical behind the counter.
