title coiled vibrating string
boy reading how did he hide
so michael keaton in birdman of you
each i’m the wrong person to ask
i don’t actually know the man
i’ve heard his name mentioned in passing
you’d have to know the particulars experience
every idle plot mostly cell phones ever idly plot
circles go on shenanigans hide the title michael
keaton reading nevermore idea all clear
on set the next outlay of black string
round round round then overtop
plato erosion title reading never
notice the hockey puck
what hockey puck?
I woke, feeling of particularly base moral character, because of this dream I had.
The dream was built upon a typically gauche bacchanal at a filmic hivelike Midwestern frat house, a free Chinese buffet erected on the street outside operated by presumably a crosstown rival frat, the unacceptable total loss of some unreplaceable button down-type evening wear, and the medically airtight revelation by special hand delivered letter that I did in fact have AIDS, contracted during a blasé threesome during the prior night’s hockey party.