They’re psychoanalyzing my pride. I’m ignoring the obvious: a war vet with ear plugs on the fourth of July. You’re that pyrotechnic glow on my mind. This memoir is a token of antisocial expression. Our vermilion bond was anecdotal at best, demoralizing. You’ll only ever see it as a victimless crime. siphoning bits and piecesContinue reading “The Existential Crisis of Kissing Your Iris: A Poem of Obsession and Delusion”