Light shines from a peach and that is pure sugar
light.
Everyone in the office today forgets to wear pants.
Because pants are ‘unnecessary.’
My resume is abysmal and full of gaping holes.
Illness is a fucking maw / make a peach out of your
distances / your mistakes / your entire
atrocious life.
Quickly you remind me to remain positive.
Fuck fuck fuck I yell into a paper bag because I want to be
heard.
My temperament tells me I was most likely
a notable Viking in a past life.
Because I like to travel and fuck shit up.
Please pardon my descent into ‘French.’
Like those Normans, descended from Rollo, he himself
a noteworthy Viking.
A-Viking we shall go-go.
I need farmland. There’s no farmland here in the
stuffy office of no pants.
Please find some goddamned pants and leave me in peace
because I really need to eat this peach.
Need to feel sugar in my throat / some life-held
sweetness.
Like, right now.
The Vikings were travelers and marauders but also
able farmers. They knew the stink
of dairy cows and sheep.
Counting milking stalls at the archaeological
site / watch me dig.
You’re still here / you place a finger in one gap.
This is how you discover my medieval age.
Don’t call it ‘dark’ you say / call instead your caverns
kernel / ovule. Meanwhile,
Einar Olofson, a less
notable Viking, warms his
chilly hands in the hay barn of the settlement.
All of the Vikings wear pants.
The pants are spun of love and wool.
Remember, you tell me, nobody was born wearing
pants.
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