Old stuff- mostly jumbles of words that sound pretty and can have meaning derived from them. Sometimes I have something personal in mind, sometimes I don't. 'You' doesn't refer to anyone; it's like a rape of that poor pronoun. Rereading all this, I sit and think 'what possessed me to write so much about prostitutes?' or 'What was I thinking writing a whole poem about second-person undifferentiated pronouns?'
This thing is like a study in what the hell.
My new penname is Bobby Thrill. It's not much more coherant there than it is here, but that's where the new stuff lives.