Tristan Robert Lange

hoist(ed)

going ahead without a plan

just to avoid the damn man—

you know who,

not the one serving flan—

i can feel the grog

walking through the fog

springing upon

marshmallow rocks,

a caramel breeze swirling by

oh dear!—oh my!

fudgey fishies in

a chocolatey phish-fudge sea,

must i ever leave this dream,

can we avoid the rift?

I’d rather drift—

the wolfman and his brother,

swimming along with my mother—

wait?—my mother? oh brother!

can I switch this for another?

Junta, please.

First published on tristanrobertlange.com, June 13, 2026.

Tittu