How—
do such
desperately
impulsive
and full-
blooded?
teeming receptacles
of hedonism—
keep
showing up?
sheathed
in such
pale
skinny
syn-
thetic-
smelling skins—
which gesture
in such
idle
and indolent
thrusts—
toward some
idea of
sober-as-ice-
water
responsibility?
I mean—
how
come
every morning—
there's
appreciably more
condoms
than
cars
in this over-
night
parking lot?