Like great literary protagonists in the rain roofed misty little city

Is there anything left to say, really?

Aren’t we all just imitating the masters?

I guess that’s okay anyway.

And aren’t we guilty of devouring the classics

and going on and on about absinthe binges

and thank god wormwood is legal in the states again.

And how exciting it is to fall in love, swallow pints of beer

–not necessarily in that order–

come, quote Hemingway and fall out of love over meager breakfasts!

We shouldn’t be ashamed, at any rate,

To live these cliche moments if in such intensity that they cease to be cliche.

Like fruity wine and sentimental country songs, there being nothing left to say, anyhow.