Page twenty-eight of Ginberg’s “Howl” bears my bite mark, and I wonder why.

I mourn my lost camera because my friend Jacob is inside it.

When I catch my reflection at a strange angle, I see a stranger.

I mistyped angle as angel and for a moment felt watched over.

I like pizza more than chocolate: further proof I’m really a man.

I pray to gods I don’t believe in because I want to be friendly.

Because I want to be friendly, I pray to gods I don’t believe in.

I read a story that uses “pussy” a dozen times on one page.

The Erotic Bakery reeks of cigarettes and has few baked goods.

Hey, why don’t we thumb through life backwards so we can start with the sex ads?