No more crap about the kids.
No more crap about crap.
Nothing about my brother, the rich geologist.
And don’t try to stop me, I’m leaving.
I’m getting down off the couch.
Even though I bought a bird—nothing about it.
No more angry stuff because I can’t think.
No more pulling the hairs from the inside of my nose.
Ixney on the oopygay for the isfrizzy airhey.
And I’m not eating anymore fish eye balls,
not taking your oven-mitt advice.
No more plus is positive,
or yodeling into the back of the fan.
I’m throwing my tongue scraper away.
I’m buffing out the invective
you scratched on my lenses.
I’m getting lasik surgery.
I’m going to talk more and listen less.
Today is the day I begin again.