A box of them,
Donuts,
Oh
no
O

I
fell
into
their

v
o
r
t
e
x

specks of paint chips,
the solipsist sits
and says that
he and only
he exists,
the rest
of us a
re not
hing
[Blech,
excuse me,
but selfishness
makes me more sick
and pissed than that time
I kissed a string of groupies, t’was
this past Saint Patrick’s, Sincerely Yours]

p.s.
practice
prophylactics