exercise is manufactured labor

when I run the track I work the field

I dreamed "I love you so much baby"
A married girl, you're at least three women

If I step in mud I make this sound
like my jaw grinding every morning
my podcast is blowing up I think
your poems are too poppy you should
just write rap lyrics

I'm a man now, I have no mythology
The track could be a form, the labyrinth
is a form chasing its tail

The mechanical bull bucks this trend
My wife is my body falling down
It's a suffocating decision to make in the morning