Creases

Sodden targets
In an era of rampant mental illness.
Loose lips sink shrinks.
What have you tested for?
The results remain the flame.
You’ve received a phone call
That says you are loathed.
A surveillance expert creases
Your papers while you sleep.
You’ve been living underground
For two breathless months
And you don’t know what that means.

What I’m Reading:

“I don’t recall asking to be conceived! Neither did my parents come to think of it. Even so. Score to be settled. Children are vengeance.”

—John Barth / “Autobiography: A Self-Recorded Fiction”