From "The Raineyiad"

He calls our two

locations

    parasites. A

parodic paralytic,

picking your

    poison. Your

sugary chivalry is

    sickeningly sweet,

sprouts butterflies

        in the belly. The

poem must grow

            aware of each 

    titillating tactic,

the poem is never

    alone, but

average, already

almost always

acclimated to

allusion, another 

illusion, a rip-off,

a planned

collision, needing

                                one hopes,

concerted 

collusion. How

alliterate can be

the illiterate? A

hole, a-hole! A

whole "aw! Hole!"

But this time

Doja Cat,

our very own

damsel

of distress,

signaling the

department of

    defense to wonder

who the fuck is

                          DOD?