| Getting away from being pretty much away from it all
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| I’m reading Anis Mojgani poems in the bathroom stall
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| Someone can see my ankles
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| Keen eye for the sadness, pangs bro
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| I keep thinking of internet lovers trousers
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| Felt good like snow days when the driveway is plowed first
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| Let’s promise each other Jefferson City Square Deals
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| And when friends come over we’ll only cook fair trade meals
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| Unbutton the front of your shirt like Bob Fossil
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| I’m staring in the mirror for too long like Bob Rocksalt
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| Except Bob Rocksalt is a linguistic construct
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| The linguine’s all fucked and it’s my fault this time
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| David Lipsky can’t write like this
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| When he bundles up his fingers it’s a bright white fist
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| And he gets NPR reviews that say he just might exist
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| I’m jealous, subset of envy
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| Staring at his food while my plate has plenty
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| If I was a necromancer I would bring back Foster Wallace
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| If I was a necromancer I would bring back my friend Robert
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| If I was a necromancer I would bring back Schopenhauer
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| If I was a necromancer I wouldn’t be a fucking coward
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| I feel like Darius Rucker in a post-op world
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| Made myself an egg sandwich on the bread with the swirl
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| When I played basketball I couldn’t never make a free throw
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| My step-sister cries out «Oh Bendito»
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| And I feel naked underneath this peacoat
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| They said I blew it and my forehead vein became prominent like Daniel Day Lewis
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| There will be blood and my veins are full of mud
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| And I’m counting down the days till the flood
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| Don’t think I’ve seen her in a day
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| In the litany of ways I feel like Ian Mackaye
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| Indeed, I make a so-so lover
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| Regardless, I’m still the prince of cocoa butter |