but i don’t want to wait through this iteration of this sequence of derangements
i want a room with a door i can shut, a privy i don’t have to clean every day
and the rest is whatever else you want for a socialist paradise
what ho introversion! you give me all my best moments, the times when i can
lovingly and laboriously think about all this stuff before i go offline that last time
now i think, bending and bending toward the ground, of my good fortune
the “lucky bitch” invisibly stamped onto all of my life’s accoutrements
the way i’ve dodged virtually every responsibility thrust upon me so well
that you would think that i was born to it, a rich saxon baron’s wife, who not once
lacked for bread her whole life, no not though the whole world else were starving
Here’s a jpeg of the poem, with better font and blocking
