Brake pads squeak and a tram’s bell ring

I’m thinking about closed and open totalities

And phrases like: transcendental homelessness

To really get to the bottom of the Whitmanic subject.

You can’t help but feel that theory is just allegory.

SUCK MY DICK is scratched into this desk

A man sits at a computer tapping the screen

The image does not zoom in he taps harder

And still the pornographic image gets no closer

All he wants is to get a better view of the woman’s

Nipple. I send a message to my girlfriend explaining

The situation. I tell them that this is the purest use

Of the Internet I’ve seen in ages. I love how he

Desires the real woman that in the picture

Not the picture itself. The strawberry blonde

In the hot cowboy costume should be in the room

With us if the world was just. Oh, if God was good.

This innocence it’s like he has desire outside of

Desire itself. The attempts to bring her closer

Make me think of how I used to be

Certain of what I want

Banh Mi for lunch

Jittery from fourth coffee

Are they waiting for the tram?

I want my 3DS back

I miss puberty

When I vandalise public

Property I can never come up

With anything fun to write

I just write my initials.

I want to it take back

What I said to my Dad that

One time. His struggle relatable

Tapping away the screen constantly

He is just searching for a decent

Purpose like everyone else.

Why didn’t I just go to the coast?

And what should I cook for dinner?

There’s sardines in the pantry

I never had sardines before

And I’m never ever even

Certain of what I want