Without the Filter of Loathing,these moments might be
painful enough to remember.
Poignancy is spread too evenly
across the laminated planks
of the middle chanks
when it comes to you and me.
Can you still feel the time
we discovered together
that birds are blind in the dark?
If this place was real,
we'd be part of the scenery.
Standing in a puddle at the
bottom of a quinoa barn,
watching an artifice prove it
can only hold its own weight,
nude farming suddenly rings
trite and fake meat, ungodly.
"For Donna"
Hoolie
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