Underneath flyover at the end of Southside Blvd

How am I supposed to unpack my brain
When there are new terrains of stubble
To stumble through?

Foreheads speck with glistening confetti,
A reward for work's unairconditioned quirks
Inside the bubbling of a can's Tecate.

How do you know the things you know?
How did tongs and flame find your tattooed frame?
How did you find yourself in a band
Of tank tops and gloved hands,
A member of the culinary punk brigand?

I imagine the same way the apron strings found me-

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