Today, eaten and misreading: elf-like leaving of houjicha, aggressive sidewalk flyering now being done by cheerleaders who bellow spirit at non flyer takers down the street, my one chance to feel festive, you are spam personified, I yell, or want to, there, on the floor, flourishes a parole, worse than the mcd’s sidewalk pep crew, bread, bread, need a new gig, make that several, packing lavamatic bags for new space, think of ten things to say when entering someone’s personal space, my hoop has four right angles, do we fit? or just, my hoop! my hoop! “this all has to go” and other reveries of capital, “wouldn’t be bad marketing,” perhaps we ought to feel up the imagination, used to be ashbery before my flip-this-house astigmatism, happy pi day to my rate of deceleration, happy tattoo, math friend.