your crinkle cut fries are getting cold

i don't know how to spell unleavened,       i wonder how many bombs were made before crisco was invented,        i don't know what shortening shortens,

& i am unable to love you.  i gave up on the outside wind coming in.  the windows are stuck shut

i gave you a dogbone to give to the puppy across the street
that usually gives it back anyhow by the end of the day
       it took an ounce of baking soda to feel my tongue again

o i don't know your middle name, we fuck like little boys with their knuckles knee-deep in mud,         i am taking up quitting again.

your crinkle cut fries are getting cold.