There were no days without letters in them anymoreso I rode out to the underworld
looking for a self.
None seemed available –
so selves on the shelves.
In questionable response,
I ate a bowl of humble soup
in the hopes that it would do me some good.
It did me some bad.
It did me some real bad
and I had to go to multiple bathrooms
to expunge the experience from my existence.

I found no soluble solutions
which left me shorter than usual.
It was the kind of thing you couldn’t grow out of.
Is there anybody going to listen to my story?
Probably not Imogene,
who never really existed
at all..