when i supped
on the fruits
of youth
partook
in revelry
masked
my symptoms
with the cures
i employed
ambiguously
enjoyed
subjected and rejected
the inability
to see the trees
for the forest
of hieronymus bosch
poisoned
shrubbery
as i willfully
pulled
the jesus bolt
from the helicopter
as i cut
the tightrope
mid act
to do my best
tarzan howl
into the roughspun
netting
carefully concealed
in the plastic jungle
there was so much
thought
put into the bullshit
the heist itself
was forgotten
eight plot twists
in the past

there was a point

most likely