Help wanted ad on a telephone pole beside a black hole not far from
Ready to hire based on a desire to get my house in order

Things just get so messed up sometimes. It is what it is.

Platitudes as tithe to the gods of learning to get my shit together.

I heard that if you count each petal on a dandelion head–perfectly, and on the first try–you will learn the coordinates of your next date with Destiny.

But tear just
tender floret
and she won’t return your texts, or calls, if your thirst brings you that far for slaking.

I tell myself the difference between knowing a thing and –knowing– a thing is seven cents less than what it takes to run a cycle at the galactic laundromat &

is not just a setting on the washing machine