I say, get the the hell out of my way. I say it like those girls in 1st grade said it as they marched, Rockette-style, down the playground, saying “If-you-don’t-get-out-the-way-we’ll-kick-you-out-the-way.” I’m looking for the things that Don’t Make Sense, underfoot, stuck to the bottom of my shoe, like feces. That shit makes no sense, I’d like to say to as I smeare it along along the sidewalk. “You don’t make sense to me.” Or, “What the fuck are you doing there?”