Photo of dirt, by me. Me punching you and throwing you in the ditch, all me. The septic tank has a pleasant aroma. This headache is sponsored by me. I’m the plague of your dreams, the filth you hold close and know so intimately. I take the dye outta your tie. You’ll sit with me in front of a television with your eyes glued to it for a caffeine of days worth of ransom dollars even you’re paying me like I’m great to be with like your best leg caught in a machine. Good memories of that leg. Better days ahead without it.