KIND OF STIFF IN THE MORNING


So begins another day at the cowboy disco,
And already I can hear my gums recede into the distance.

It's playing a trumpet that I like. There aren't enough
Cakes to go around, either. It's like I'm living

In a time capsule full of Jell-O, but not the kind you eat;
What brings me to this impassable moraine is a secret,

Though not one worth keeping, so here goes: last night
I opened a window. Smoke drifted in and I was hooked:

No longer would I be forced to drive around looking for cod
Or other vegetables. Once I thought I found carp,

But it was merely carpal tunnel. You, so-called lady,
Are looking comparatively fine. As was expected.