I wish there was a cave we could go to.
We could wear hoodies and drink beer,
build a fire and sing spectral tunes,
read classics to each other
until we forget who we are.
Let’s envision a cave for our escape,
build it here, in a corner somewhere.
We’ll rip up the prose that has failed us,
as well as the poems proud and arrogant
and make out of them papier–maché,
erect walls and a circular door, with pulp
and the marrow we nurse from our bones.