We tote excess of existence like dreams
taut with defeat. Truth that erupted was
buried in my briefcase, alcohol was an
enabler. Our style sheet was impaired.
Like statutes it was open to interpretations.
As poets we compounded the causatum.
Ambidextrous lovers are the most loved.
Or the least. Those who seem to please
everyone, please no-one. Their goal is
And, here; our goat is got. (We welcome Sanjeev to our crazy congress of Contributing Poets with this submission. Read more of his madness on his new page – check it out.) – mh clay