Firing my boredom broken hearted out towards a Floridian landscape so verdant, so soon, leaves an empty feeling like a dog bowl on a dog day. Run on.

Seeking the heat on my feet from macadam so jagged, I feel I know what the original pave meant when it was first steamrolled. Sullen, shrunk in the maw of the cardoor opened to cry, boot, I berate the world's staff infected with empathy and emotion; how they seemingly work so well as I stumble shirtstained through this with no blueprint. As the ledger's black marks back talk egregious errors are erased, to be flicked off the page like fag ash. Such a simple way to disappear. Fuck if I don't find so much safety in alliteration. I am coddled by simple literary devices, in my clutch swaddled safely.