Gawd, the Melodrama

there's a fury:

fingers of feelings
less than a feather's width
land on your back 40
to the tune of a pretty penny
roll around for awhile
no one seems to care
winter banter saunters
we'll go on
being slaughtered
I know, but can't stop it
far less than a feather
wide as what I barely remember
plush and woody pictures and realistic trees
hippie meltdowns all around
hamburger helper my ass, said
once during class, such sass
where to start, where to begin &
before you know it, nearing the end
confused, drunk in a bar, a stinkin'
"takko bohrr" as the locals call it
maybe a bottle of hot sauce
but those aren't tacos