with existential manhole sit-
ins? Refrain
from that gimpy refrain:

I have purged the resumé of glaring stigmas,
stilled
the metaphor
treadmill.

Let
this motor
breathe. Cold calls heat

up. Here’s to a heart-
to-heart

between retinas.

are proud
of their cute semi-automatics.
Sappily every after, love toasting the marsh
mallows? On
a candy-
paved high
way? On this trail of beers? Let
a poignant silhouette
wrap the
ineffable.

You
dudes should suit up for
a tour
of urban sewers: they’re
warmed by victims of fabulous
reputations.
Today I’m not gonna pooh-

pooh your
lust for
jackpot
margins, but—
sans generous

distribution of moxie and fortitude across
every level and division—can these transpire
just by setting outrageous expectations
on a lone human back? I beg

to defer.
Fully rebuffed. Therefore,
I will not

drag
myself to the emergency-meeting vote on whether

to lose the moment’s alleged lollapalooza.