When I was a young boy of seven, I once threw all of my parents precious china out of our third story window. The smooth satisfaction of broken dinnerware. Neighborhood kids applauded. In the world of these poems, I am assured forgiveness.
Inspiring disorientation in an apocalyptic foray: How to accommodate a Komodo dragon under a commode? How indeed.
A poem about the inevitable failure of poetic self-improvement: "Advise me, oh my distant friend, as to the how of approach to such...such."