They called here to tell me that you’re finally
dying, through a veil of childish cries. southern
manitoba prarire’s pulling at the pant-leg of
your bad disguise. so why were you so anchorless?
T abandoned in some backyard. anchorless in the
small town that you lived and died in. I’ve got
an armchair from your family home. got your p.g.
wodehouse novels and your telephone. I’ve got
you
Tes and stainless steel. got that way of never
saying what you really feel. I don’t want to live
and die here where we’re anchorless.
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