kicking an imaginary ball

like windshield wipers

moving right to left

become a crevice by sitting still

stop pursuing Euclidian space

like being stapled shut

in a private penthouse

I drop the founding father

as if Silly Putty were an accomplishment

unless she means The Holy See

in the Ford sedan backseat

self-pittying putto

wrapped around my head

at the confessional orgy

I made a repeated ping