Where Do I Start?
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Where do I start? This place is full of men. It's crowded and smells of men. I know these men too well. I'm not sure whether they know me. I don't know them too well after all. Not too long ago, I marched with them on the streets. They need no poetry to reveal who they are, but they're more tolerable than liberals who sneer at adults who stay with their parents who effortlessly dismiss evolution as a dream. Cuticles, earlobes, and toothpaste. (A reminder: this is not a poem) All the week I was disoriented, I could've made new friends. I didn't need any, but I'm contemplating the alternative. The man next to me sez Shut the Fuck Up! But the cold war is over, and I'm eating a carrot.