By Christopher Mulrooney

it’s a pure crisis of identity theft

if you come right down to it

I don’t care how much you resemble

what you can pretend to

if you dare a speculation to this effect

one a tear’s down the right cheek proving

a the locus b the focus

two the shabby little town

with its walking dead and the rest of it

the handsome ugliness of the newest additions

and all the futile palaver in it

you can’t sign for I reject your passport

it’s entirely revoked

after all the far cry is a good measure

if a rough approximation

of a validatable excrescence

yes that fiction