Nate Hoil
[Thumbtack studies.]
What a dwindle to age like a jealous farm growth. What a liver failure checklist crafting a laugh. Call the pileup a nursery. Let’s show them the knife. Let’s show them the siren that Saturday squirms in the fist of murmur. Born into bad timing I decorate old testament. I’m walking twelve dogs with the drooling drip appetizer. I hear you with both ears. There are lots of ways that man can do wrong. Brain craving broken fences I hop the hood and I get in the car. You can’t fake this fire hydrant fast think. Science isn’t real. My alcohol stunt double is falling in love. I flinch in a flower field. I slump stomp the surgical. I scratch at the ceiling for air. Everything happens for a reason. Not your reason. You can do whatever. You can get his ass. You can make him evaporate. I’ve got wires in my head that make me spin move. I’m running back to the line of scrimmage with my shoes untied and no helmet on. Iron gloves can’t stop these tremors. I think of counsel and I sink in my scenario. Now it’s too late. The yard is burning. I bed a prevention and ugly my glide. Nobody is anybody unless they have nametags. Keep in mind I am constantly paste thinking plagiarism. I hold dear my dear. Holding hands at the bus stop. Every inside comes apart.