Saint of Patrons If you can Move to the mad Code and perform "the assassin" a new favorite dare You can quash All resistance and sip from oceans We're driving on Expired licenses to kill, headed for False Positives There are stiff burdens To be shouldered and rich folk to Mock Keep Up and flourish amid shaky paradox, stay for the eggs or Presume to find pleasures in Languages What doesn't jive? The numbers don't Always lie I cringe at the lack of Rewind I'm dirty as Hell A white sheep Among bleach blondes Unrecoverable vacancies of luck, which explains why I'm so Enamored of the St. life We're busy arguing Spermicides with our eyes on the door Things I am thankful for: colorblindness every selfish emotion, the Axe This year was my Therapist's treat, written off by Taxidermists Smother me again in sleep, together forever with pushers of the Blue in the very last smoky Corners next