by Joseph Goosey
We lack the desire to become.
Teachers, welders, therapists, line cooks-
all laughable pursuits in a time
when the snow cooks
slowly.
I want to carry a red plastic cup
for the rest
of my off-white days.
I want a room,
somewhere high and green,
filled to the ceiling
with your helium
moans.
Joseph Goosey wrote something that is here.
