It's not my yard and not my

leafblower, either, not my frack account

or my circus or my glistening

non-sordid life. The unstapled world

is not for the taking,

and I'll let you down bloody, poets:

There is no such thing as endless

distances. God can't even see which tattoos

we bought, and yet each new feeling blusters in

like a dog wet from the lake —

absolutely free.