Ars poetica as a fry cook named Lars Moetica

Lars Moetica’s father before

He perished from prostate cancer

Always told his malleable son

Son, all you have is your name

Lars Moetica these days can 

Be found in late-night

Commercialized dungeons 

Where corn oil is emperor 

Lars Moetica accepted his

First paycheck as a fatherless

Child, invested in a chest tattoo

All you have is your name

It’s said Lars Moetica is 

On the path to promotion 

Only a scant year after his 

Mustache penciled in 

Lars Moetica is built to last

In the late-night dungeons

And he’ll forever remain

Rail-thin

Lars Moetica takes to his 

Name like a suicidal poet to

Conception pain—the words,

They never come out right 

Lars Moetica will still somehow 

Outlast his tag and still somehow

Float hemispheres & still somehow

Words nibble the relics of words.