Add “huzzah” to any sentence to get to seventeen syllables.

Another weekend: I play a cantata and wait for you to call.

Even what we slough off we still live with, until we vacuum it up.

At beauty school, one training head looks like Jesus, another like Cher.

Four hours after the training session, I’m still wearing my nametag.

Now I only think of Kansas City when I hear “Kansas City.”

During the night someone took my eyes and replaced them with smaller eyes.

How did it come to this: sap on my ass and no way to get it off.

Lying side by side, we are a Rorschach that won’t give up its secrets.

I ate the apple then picked out the seeds and swallowed them one by one.

The pomegranate had been sliced open; all I had to do was eat.

My dreams as heavy as oil; I wake up trying to remove the filth.

I sleep until ten: All the birds have stopped singing; sky full of pockets.

Seeds lay scattered on the sidewalk: a language we can read with our hands.

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?