Since giving up on poetry, singalong has vaulted to the top of our shared agenda. Shared or snared, just like they. Leaving office to wolves has a double meaning to off-center the filing (and filtering) system and other singularities I’ve kept back under my appendix for years. We have no limits to affirm any retractions, feeding our reliance on illumined work, dire pleasures, majestic plans and, this most generalized I guess, fortune (Fortune) itself burningly turning back to watch the wax dim.