All Leech Diet New, fat-free, addiction. After death life isn’t matter. What Vicodin fiend craves ice-cream? Hunger for acclaim, paychecks, publishing in The Walrus . Tusks stick me. I’m eager to staff underpaid interns baring Kraft Dinner for breakfast. Sushi schmutz on fat whiskers. Eskimo kisses leave their mark. Bloody genius, dimes in your hand spring dollars but they’re spent. Pall Got good at getting society’s creature comforts without participating. Damned if I can fill the TD1 Personal Tax Credits Return . It’s clammy here under this communal blanket. Semaphored Hello To the Ivory Lighthouse Given endless expression you matter in aggregate, served on uniform sheets. These rocks are comfortable. Flash me a gangplank and I’ll find my waterbed. This is the signal for heavy, freezing spray . I want to say I’m lost in this fog but I’m lost in this fog. While Coach Plays the Back Nine at Pebble Springs Cheerleaders, blin...