In the bookshop (I wanted a book—
the cafe had none): “Ratatouille
is about the class analysis of something”
(not verbatim. I forgot). In the
cafe: “Don’t be too clever about it.”
Many theories to be had at this time. Many poems.
I have been very clever with mine lately, obsessed
with minor flows and rhythms. I don’t really know
why this one is here like this. For what it’s worth
too, I went to the same festival as the man
at the counter and I took a lot of acid
and I may still be in that Disney movie
picking things apart, because I am in bed: theories
and poems are bad.
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ashley dunn 
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