read Berryman's poem Recovery,

which is all I've done thus far

my agency, coupled w/ another that is damn distant,

past Bryan's Farm and the tomato stakes, old couples on choppers,

is too sluggish w/ my checks. I'm loafing by a thread these days,

I peck my beb a few times and settle back into worry.

the teachers were there at a child's birthday party

I believe they conspire to get me fired, like they did with the last guy

my BSC looks out for me, at the very least, of which I am thankful
I'm the only non-Christian there

I shuffle the Maximus Poems and Love & Fame 

as if an ace of inspiration will tip out

summer, now, 

only smells differently