This myth is rekindled time and time again by gangsters:
dysentery can not be computed. They don't bother
much about the fact that the limousine was
well-hung; troughed, then dislodged from
the undecaying ashtray.
An entire neighborhood once left piece by piece –
in a field they later discovered the tetrices of a felon.
Wens gravitating toward bystanders in the aftermath of a drive-by.
Today, old people swear the pee spots in their hankies
are from excessive nasal pampering.
And the moon's new beam – a walking, talking,
rollicking celebration of blocks extinguished.