hands in the garden

“alright ginger,
send
in

that
master
of madmen”

we’re all ears and
must hear..

“dear beast, who’s
in season?“

dammit he’s
loose
now–

shan’t catch
him

by thinking too
like him,

i smile small
to thank
him..

no
doubt,

we need hear
no more–

“alright ginger,
show him
out.“