What Found Me Today, Conflated with the Thing Next Door

This mushroom found my field of vision from a height of seven feet in the clitoral apogee of a vulvic opening into a lovely Chesnut Oak on Tortise Hollow Hill. What is it, Nora? Taxonomy, please. Now, tThe Paw Paw fell to the ground as I passed it. THe two trees are heavy with these versions of ice cream, without ice. I stared at it and it taught me exactly how to eat it. No shit. Finally the Rose of Sharon came from Randy's yard, which was, de facto, Becky's yard. Beyong that, there's nothing really to say, is there? But here I go, fully acknowleging the negativity I will be releasing. This thing next door actually tried to speak to me the other day and I flipped him a most poetic and transactional bird, right to his stupid face, which, though axiomatic by now to all who've had the misery of being exposed to his toxic visage, was awned by a goddamned stupid fucking toupee, affixed by glue to his abominable scalp scape. I actually represented one of his relatives once. Another Mole. He, too, wore one. Toupees run in families? In any event, this is our neighbor, Miss T. Now, allow us now to return to nature, which is anathemic to this perversion of humanity, named, quite appropriately in this case, Randy Moles. Indeed.