what’s eating hildegard? by Julian T. Brolaski

they locked up all the deodorants at the pharmacy
so much for my spicy sculpture

I'm melting down the mounds of greeze
into a thickish soup
for your pleasure,

but I'm having a problem 
I like you but I’m the creepy older person
& my offerings of tea & chocolates are not platonic
evry word doth almost tell it—

the one fingered typist
and the halfmoon network, myn oracle
are all along the mizzenmast w/ my louche aspect

my friends, I have broken with you
& with the iambic forever
there will be no re-calling me
where I'm headed

burgler who forgot to loggoff thir
f***book page

crême-de-mer you cant
extinguish a fire, and expect it to keep