it’s not like i like writing poetry. it’s not like i can. but what else have i got over you? not even that. you’re more poetic than i’ll ever be. you’ve experienced more of this hell on earth than i. you have visited 110% of the countries in the world! your map is made up of red pins, i can see no signs of oceans or continents. you are funnier than i am. you are lorrie moore incarnate. you stir tom collins in your sleep. you make no pretentious allusion, none that an ak.sa.ra kid can discern. you are the distillation of all my life’s ambitions. you gift-wrap piranha for your dad, you kool thang. i have always wondered from what kind of stable of smart people you come from. you are needless to say, a thoroughbred. i want to breathe alpine air through your arsehole. smell the ganros.