we’re in old city unsnapping the horses’ shitbags. freedom is free,
the street buckles like empties. the tourists, white, turn red as gum—
it behooves them. corona pony for you, corona pony for me—cheers
to brick wall, full dues paid against which i smash myself into our
empties—openness, then, salt on the lips. whims of higher ups just
pissed into cups, beer pong for the board of trustees who buck
like starved cunts in a jar of nothing. in a jar of fake history. it
rolls down the street, halts at a fence of paul revere droppings.
shhh, shhh! let the sewer speak.