beau sturm
|
dog
days.
sticky
heat gums up the skin.
breathing
in the cement fumes of
plastic
trees lining paper cup streets,
taking
you to your next nowhere.
off
to screw the bolt at the factory
hoping
for a break to eat some lies
and
wash them down with a cool fantasy.
taste
the boredom?
it
coats your tongue with complacency.
take
the a-train back to “somewhere”.
traveling
the same dusty road lined with
paper
trees and plastic guts.
home.
slip
off your frustration and pour a
nice
cool glass of delusion.
kick
back and savor the manufactured joy.
tired.
pull
back your Crate and Barrel and
rest
your feathery dome on the hope of
a
reason. |
