Baby Boys' summer (jam) by Scroach
Modern alienation, yes but lets go further; confusion be our guide again. Once cast on cavestone in the form of wolves and aurochs, we now throw you at garage walls in the shape of animals we know. But the poets got to that already and they've got to it a thousand times since. What's left? There are the obviously trotted dirt spots and then the Lyme disease remainders. Call your own shots kid-o, he and me? you can find us in where the weeds still have their ways, and the metaphors go unchecked.