pack and get dressed before all hell breaks loose
before clocks are thrown at walls or stolen
before your B movie roles
make coasters for repeated cups of black
your bladder trembling in reruns
where children play in backgrounds backwards
hoping you choke on your joke
show me awake as i want to see it
bright blurs in the first seconds of day
adjoining beds parked in parallel
pass forever in space, stars wash into gray
watercolors and soapstone
don't lose your nerve
i can't do this alone
motorways move us in clover leaf outlines
blessing the foot that crushed your shell
burned gaps in chemical reactions
pain cracked pressure points
and bloomed like a firebird
swallowing everything in one bite
doors pried open by the jaws of life
bridge to the middle of afterwards
treasure island, yerba buena
missions and handfuls of orange clay
coastal highways blurred by fog
escape is just through the valley
through poppies and cristatum folds
the slopes sucking dry after the cold.
hills stumble to the foot of the plain
as raindrops chatter with tempered glass
lightning dictates still life flashes
stored by wind witch and saguaro
snatches of lost time beaten by blows
my neck cramps looking over my shoulder
your rear view recedes as fast as we go
i watched the back of promises
heads rolled in long hauls of shame
desert hordes of torn clouds leaking darkness
windowless homes with open porches
corrugated roofs, corroded holes
i've driven black ribbons tied like robes
banded tighter, cleaving hills,
clasping gas stations like glossy jewels
this is my final alarm, my last close
dreams tangled with lost sheets
scratch woolen blankets
the open window only blows cold
snow dusts the still streets and roofs
the landscape sheds skin flakes
clustered on the edge of cracks
iron dirt frozen in the wind chill
the map unfolded traces veins
back to the heart like skid marks on the road
boxes hold only enough to be carried
loads of paper words crumpled and folded
our sum totals divided once more
fescue grass points through white flecks
green fingers showing us where we go
as they hold broken bottles.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Thursday, February 28, 2008
the drift
plastic keys try to please me
at my metal desk by boxes of energy
the lcd placates in crisp pixelation
electromagnetic paranoia signals in waves
printers exhale toner and ozone
the phone blinks red codes saying,
"you know where you are with"
hamfisted emotions punching holes
reasons and opinions stolen from the road
at the metal wayside you wet your sleeve
then you left (or did i leave?)
hammering discontent repeatedly
in flexing muscles, twitching signs
smithing warm iron into edges, sparks
preparing to point the tip at me,
shield in place, marked with crosses
a mace hanging off your hip
my totality is left in young feet
some walking upside down under a summer lamp
faces blurred by the watery heat
my voice just an echo
vibrating in their memories
some days i try to grow wings
look down on roads like brittle veins
where metal blood pumps and pushes
gray with smoke from the crucible heart
cold clouds part as i drift past
i visit plots where old houses stood
their smashed walls now dust
to be swept up in clumps under the rug
afternoons spent trusting
questions thrust in naked revelation
become cold slides used only for dissection
in the evenings on the oversized sectional
separated by digital noise
digital remorse
we drift downstream
lights dimmed
children deaf in their sleep
you snoring under faux fur
me holding the remote
purple cushions sliding loose
sliding slowly to the floor
while i fold vertical distance with my eyelids
at my metal desk by boxes of energy
the lcd placates in crisp pixelation
electromagnetic paranoia signals in waves
printers exhale toner and ozone
the phone blinks red codes saying,
"you know where you are with"
hamfisted emotions punching holes
reasons and opinions stolen from the road
at the metal wayside you wet your sleeve
then you left (or did i leave?)
hammering discontent repeatedly
in flexing muscles, twitching signs
smithing warm iron into edges, sparks
preparing to point the tip at me,
shield in place, marked with crosses
a mace hanging off your hip
my totality is left in young feet
some walking upside down under a summer lamp
faces blurred by the watery heat
my voice just an echo
vibrating in their memories
some days i try to grow wings
look down on roads like brittle veins
where metal blood pumps and pushes
gray with smoke from the crucible heart
cold clouds part as i drift past
i visit plots where old houses stood
their smashed walls now dust
to be swept up in clumps under the rug
afternoons spent trusting
questions thrust in naked revelation
become cold slides used only for dissection
in the evenings on the oversized sectional
separated by digital noise
digital remorse
we drift downstream
lights dimmed
children deaf in their sleep
you snoring under faux fur
me holding the remote
purple cushions sliding loose
sliding slowly to the floor
while i fold vertical distance with my eyelids
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Night is My Casual Friend
Night is a casual friend.
Come and go, night,
Stay for a while.
Here, have a drink.
Smile and tell me the lies of the city
In the fluent background rumble of living:
In the seething love of the body
shaped like San Miguel hills in neon curves
In the Polk Gulch alleys of piss and dumpsters
slipped between ever-lit storefronts
In the stainless First street lobbies and gated condos
packed with rich, young automatons
In the bunches of leather pressed clothes
passing through the doors of dark SoMa bars
In the headlight choke of cars and buses
sparking a thousand horizontal facets
In the steam and smells of fried meat
blown into rising clouds over hilly Chinatown
In the statues and sand held together by crabgrass
slept on by homeless in the worn corner park
In the random clatter of streetcars
heralded by bells and stone shuddering
In the pointed intersections of diagonal streets
In the phallic towers clustered downtown
In the din of 24 hour Haight Street record stores
In the smoke of hookah bars and Middle-Eastern trance
In the dance and clink of Italian coffee shops
In the sidewalk cafes lit by the glow of cigarettes
In the tenderloin on the crowded steps of mercy churches
In the fish decay and seagulls huddling on the wharf
In the crush of stuccoed duplexes and Victorian homes
In the solo apartments of lone microwave meals
Lies appeal to you,
And you shelter them.
Night, don't be still,
Come and go.
You are my casual friend.
Come and go, night,
Stay for a while.
Here, have a drink.
Smile and tell me the lies of the city
In the fluent background rumble of living:
In the seething love of the body
shaped like San Miguel hills in neon curves
In the Polk Gulch alleys of piss and dumpsters
slipped between ever-lit storefronts
In the stainless First street lobbies and gated condos
packed with rich, young automatons
In the bunches of leather pressed clothes
passing through the doors of dark SoMa bars
In the headlight choke of cars and buses
sparking a thousand horizontal facets
In the steam and smells of fried meat
blown into rising clouds over hilly Chinatown
In the statues and sand held together by crabgrass
slept on by homeless in the worn corner park
In the random clatter of streetcars
heralded by bells and stone shuddering
In the pointed intersections of diagonal streets
In the phallic towers clustered downtown
In the din of 24 hour Haight Street record stores
In the smoke of hookah bars and Middle-Eastern trance
In the dance and clink of Italian coffee shops
In the sidewalk cafes lit by the glow of cigarettes
In the tenderloin on the crowded steps of mercy churches
In the fish decay and seagulls huddling on the wharf
In the crush of stuccoed duplexes and Victorian homes
In the solo apartments of lone microwave meals
Lies appeal to you,
And you shelter them.
Night, don't be still,
Come and go.
You are my casual friend.
Friday, February 08, 2008
wandering beats
although i'm partial to the use of rhyme,
and from time to time i like to wander, i think timing is key,
the tick tock stick of words in my teeth,
smacking red gums chewing asynchronous chomps chipped from dead leaves
wound around the pointed head of the painted fountain,
the snapping rhythm of water slapping the backs of frozen green fish
who thrash the still life scene until peacocks preen their fans
and plead beside the borderline bougainvillea hedges
gripping rusted wrought iron gates.
missteps and breaks are made walking alone
along the split asphalt path under top-heavy century trees
lean willow leaves stroke the constant clear skin of the low avon
running in slow motion past the black teeth of the rough stone banks.
ducks and fish swim and splash on the ribbon of shallow green
rippling the water near the gondolas floating lazily by
the sky a glowing gray behind the branches of kowhi and cordyline
interspersed with fir and pine shelter canopies.
couples garnish the rectangular grass, kids pass balls in open fields,
cricket matches and rugby games are played to measure time
as rhythm and rhyme footstep past in their own scene
leaning into each step caught tapping
leaving the mind to dream of days in the garden
clapping the beat of idyllic happiness.
and from time to time i like to wander, i think timing is key,
the tick tock stick of words in my teeth,
smacking red gums chewing asynchronous chomps chipped from dead leaves
wound around the pointed head of the painted fountain,
the snapping rhythm of water slapping the backs of frozen green fish
who thrash the still life scene until peacocks preen their fans
and plead beside the borderline bougainvillea hedges
gripping rusted wrought iron gates.
missteps and breaks are made walking alone
along the split asphalt path under top-heavy century trees
lean willow leaves stroke the constant clear skin of the low avon
running in slow motion past the black teeth of the rough stone banks.
ducks and fish swim and splash on the ribbon of shallow green
rippling the water near the gondolas floating lazily by
the sky a glowing gray behind the branches of kowhi and cordyline
interspersed with fir and pine shelter canopies.
couples garnish the rectangular grass, kids pass balls in open fields,
cricket matches and rugby games are played to measure time
as rhythm and rhyme footstep past in their own scene
leaning into each step caught tapping
leaving the mind to dream of days in the garden
clapping the beat of idyllic happiness.
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
not here (upstairs)
i don't find my mother here
where slick movements mesh
behind overdone underwear
sliding bra straps over nipples
nuptial motions sucking lobes
holes opening as old as productive urges
twisted pant legs chucked on the wool weave floor
drapes parted halfway
the shades cutting our bodies into slices
us fighting the limits of skin and skein
coiled like snakes under the striped duvet
arms that pull and hips that push
forgotten hinges and gaps
synapses snapping up motoneuron spaces
between coming home and the school bus horn
in the quick flesh hot breaths
of the locked suburban upstairs
released from the dog chain restraint
we lose memory for a moment
and regain the young days before distance and drudgery
our forgotten faces pressed down like reflections
once again open to be drowned.
where slick movements mesh
behind overdone underwear
sliding bra straps over nipples
nuptial motions sucking lobes
holes opening as old as productive urges
twisted pant legs chucked on the wool weave floor
drapes parted halfway
the shades cutting our bodies into slices
us fighting the limits of skin and skein
coiled like snakes under the striped duvet
arms that pull and hips that push
forgotten hinges and gaps
synapses snapping up motoneuron spaces
between coming home and the school bus horn
in the quick flesh hot breaths
of the locked suburban upstairs
released from the dog chain restraint
we lose memory for a moment
and regain the young days before distance and drudgery
our forgotten faces pressed down like reflections
once again open to be drowned.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Please leave your message at the sound of the tone...
Here is something peaceful for you to look at while I start to resurface...
Thursday, July 12, 2007
This One is Especially for P-Slim and All His Friends at Apple
Gotta admire those guys at Blendtech. You can hear the collective geek consciousness cry out in horror and loss with gnashing of teeth and rending of garments...
Thanks to DD for your eeeevil sense of humor...
Thanks to DD for your eeeevil sense of humor...
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Flight of the Conchords
Last year, I was fortunate enough to watch on HBO the 1/2 hour comedy act of New Zealand's 4th most popular guitar-based digi-bongo acapella-rap-funk-comedy folk duo, Flight of the Conchords. It was everything I felt comedy should be: understated, intelligent, and hilariously funny.
Now HBO is airing a 12 part comedy series about the two man digi-folk band called, strangely enough, Flight of the Conchords. It follows Bret and Jermaine, the two kiwi band members as they try to establish themselves in the artist capital of the world, New York City.
I saw the first episode, Sally, last night, and although the humor made my wife groan, I found the episode very enjoyable with at least three Conchords musical numbers based around the storyline (or was the storyline based around the musical numbers? probably...). It's definitely worth a watch. In fact you can check out the complete episode here until the second episode comes out next week. Check it out :)
Here is one of my favorite "music video" portions of the show which does a brilliant satire of the cheesy love balad...
Now HBO is airing a 12 part comedy series about the two man digi-folk band called, strangely enough, Flight of the Conchords. It follows Bret and Jermaine, the two kiwi band members as they try to establish themselves in the artist capital of the world, New York City.
I saw the first episode, Sally, last night, and although the humor made my wife groan, I found the episode very enjoyable with at least three Conchords musical numbers based around the storyline (or was the storyline based around the musical numbers? probably...). It's definitely worth a watch. In fact you can check out the complete episode here until the second episode comes out next week. Check it out :)
Here is one of my favorite "music video" portions of the show which does a brilliant satire of the cheesy love balad...
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Awake in Dallas in the Light Hotel
Awake in Dallas in the Light Hotel
The weight of bed sheets holds me down
This envelope sends me towards unconscious outlines
Where new insights clash with old advice
And past pages turn to ash by firelight
Awake in Dallas in the Light Hotel
Movies are moved into long-term storage
And huddle on the corner of the street
Sharing heat with shards of glass
Passed by cracks in the concrete path
Awake in Dallas in the Light Hotel
A welterweight starved to bone thickness
With sick breathing extends black hands
Covered with duct tape and plastic bags
Asking for one more chance to fight
Awake in Dallas in the Light Hotel
The wood and plaster secrete their smell
Tiles still shed their dust
Washing in repetition only makes them thinner
Awake in Dallas in the Light Hotel
Heads are covered in shame
As games are played to pass the time
Awake in Dallas in the Light Hotel
The clock stares with red eyes
Awake in Dallas
In the Light Hotel
I wait for darkness.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
When I'm 64...
Much to my friends' chagrin, I've really enjoyed the CareerBuilder Age-O-Matic Website, where you can upload the photo of any unwitting person and create an aged version of them saying whatever you want them to say....
Monday, April 16, 2007
The Fall Back
The stainless steel turbo prop striped in red, white and blue
Shook in a salted southwesterly blown across the tarmac
As propellers spun in a Utah sputter
Until the plane rolled over the oil stains out of view of the tall window
The blue skies were grey in Nebraska
Overcast snapshots taken in wide angles
Rough stubble of clear cut corn fields
Drowned in sauces and mayonnaise
Steaks marinated for 24 hours in a whiskey still.
The silt was slow to wash away
With Nebraska came the fall backward
Instead of spring there was snow
No sun, only the bright fridge light
Rustic décor and bear handles,
Forrest wallpaper darkened by the blackout curtains
At night I swam against the tide in the tepid pool
And reached the edge of solitude
Where I toweled off and walked barefoot
Silently in the back hallways
Dripping my respite like evidence along the carpeted path.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
And finally some Iranian humor...
Here are two quite popular Iranian comics for your viewing pleasure, Omid Djalili and Maz Jobrani. It's good to see something funny coming from the middle-east...
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
The Unibrow Song
Here's a clever little ditty about an issue that many of the iranian brothas (and sistas) can relate to...
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
And Speaking of Iran...
I have a friend who works for this interesting organization called the Iran Human Rights Documentation Center. Their goals are to:
* investigate and document human rights abuses in Iran;
* raise international awareness of human rights violations
in Iran and bring pressure to bear on the Iranian government
to end these abuses;
* raise local awareness of human rights violations and
international human rights standards inside Iran; and
* establish an online archive of human rights documents that
can one day be used to develop and support a reckoning
process in Iran.
There is nothing wrong with investigation and fact collection as well as the dissemination of the facts in report form. It is not politics but rather education. I hope that their goals help Iran to transition to a more moderate political climate where human rights are held in higher regard.
Here is a link to their report on the persecution of the largest religious minority in that country, the Baha'i Faith.
Props to NS for raising my awareness.
* investigate and document human rights abuses in Iran;
* raise international awareness of human rights violations
in Iran and bring pressure to bear on the Iranian government
to end these abuses;
* raise local awareness of human rights violations and
international human rights standards inside Iran; and
* establish an online archive of human rights documents that
can one day be used to develop and support a reckoning
process in Iran.
There is nothing wrong with investigation and fact collection as well as the dissemination of the facts in report form. It is not politics but rather education. I hope that their goals help Iran to transition to a more moderate political climate where human rights are held in higher regard.
Here is a link to their report on the persecution of the largest religious minority in that country, the Baha'i Faith.
Props to NS for raising my awareness.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Hollywood Wages Iranian Cultural Warfare
Apparently the new movie '300' which was just released last weekend is yet another way to wage war on Iran. I haven't seen '300' yet, but I highly doubt it's going to make me think any less of that country than their misplaced polemics do.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
The Trip to Candy Mountain
Enjoy this surreal journey to the mystical Candy Mountain probably influenced by happy pink pills. Thanks to nzgurl for giving me the chance enjoy this entertaining trip...
Friday, March 02, 2007
the pileup
a cow moos a tune
imitating a horn
in the bovine traffic jam
on the grass overpass
noses rammed
bumper to bumper
at the toll gate
methane fumes collecting
in the payment of their blood work
imitating a horn
in the bovine traffic jam
on the grass overpass
noses rammed
bumper to bumper
at the toll gate
methane fumes collecting
in the payment of their blood work
rapture redux
toner tantra photocopies the free world
legalities and clauses shopping at ross
mismatched socks walk the checkerboard corridor
under holy cows and sacred drips
the tea sips under shawls before the wrestling knockdown
top hats circle for the shuffle of expository clowns
channel surfing wipe outs burst the beer keg bubble
college students scrutinize collage covered caramel lumps
hotel hellhole in a bagdad camel hump shootout
silent speaker phones stare blown out by psychoactive candles
brass band shindigs gang banging the tuba tube sock baseline
base camp assaults on a contraband blasting cap
derelict dumpster hauls lost in the kabala junk heap
celebrity death wishes caught in the crossfire suicide pact
actors benign motions masturbate corporate riff-raff financiers
spliff smoke chokes the eyesore split screen slow-mo replay
half a day is enough to scuff the shoe black newness from your chaps
maitre'd handshakes the clambake smoke of the guest check replay
levitating the cinder block off your leather high backed excuse
expletive greed grabs words right out of my cerebellum
leaving lily pad liftoffs floating in the frog pond graveyard
cut to commercial
scene 1 ext day - outside jelly mold's home
Theme Song:
happy happy happy hoppy
hoppy hoppy hoppy hoop
sappy sappy sappy soppy
soppy soppy soppy soup
pappy pappy pappy poppy
poppy poppy poppy poop
Fade in:
Bunny suited underpaid actor jumps perkily toward the candy cane gate
wicker basket full of pastel eggs
and flicks the sugar door latch and scratches his rabbit crotch
crocheted curtains part to show the pseudo-plucky girl in a pigtails stare and roll her eyes
POV hothoused rabbit suit:
the lolly swirl door opens and girl with blue checkerboard dress and white pinafore
bounces with double-barreled shotgun knockers and circle blush on pale cheeks
Cut to:
RONNIE RABBIT
Hi! I'm Ronny the Rabbit. You must be Sue!
SUE
(chewing gum and twirling it on her thumb)
Uh huh.
RONNIE RABBIT
Have you been a good girl? I have happy eggs for all the good boys and girls!
SUE
Uh huh.
RONNIE RABBIT
Here. Have a pretty pink one!
Ronnie hands over a large pink egg in his costume mitts to Sue's French manicured paws.
A bit of gum string sticks to his fur.
SUE
(non plussed)
Thanks.
RONNIE RABBIT
(Shaking free of the gum string)
Okay Sue! Have a Happy Super Double-plus Good Easter!
Sue rolls her eyes and closes the door
Cut to:
Ronnie Rabbit in his worn brown costume hopping out the candy gate up the road
He stops and scratches his crotch and turns to wave at Sue in the jelly mold house.
Cut to:
Sue in the window staring up at him and giving him the bird
Cut to:
Ronnie the rabbit shrugging his shoulders and hopping out of frame with the house in the background. Suddenly the house explodes.
Ominous theme music
Fade to black
ANNOUNCER VO
Kids, never take candy from strangers.
Brought to you by the Department of Homeland Security
And now back to our regularly scheduled program...
3
2
1
the sacred and holy shindig shivers with rapture spasms before the revival
revealing recent conversions to fascist eating ho-ho ho-hums
white comatose pawns come kneeling on the pews perfectly
passing time before the gaggle of gods castoff robe wearers
reviews the guest list gore fest before the brimstone buffet
sashay in the finale theme song segue way to the polywoggle breakdown
simulcast simian hand jobs boggle the syphilitic zoo station
nations have waited for the rim of the sun to trim the firebird mantra
only to be left briquettes from the sons of their plethora
Brought to you by Kingsford charcoal: Lights first. Lights fast.
Stay tuned for Paris Hilton in “Bottoms Up”
legalities and clauses shopping at ross
mismatched socks walk the checkerboard corridor
under holy cows and sacred drips
the tea sips under shawls before the wrestling knockdown
top hats circle for the shuffle of expository clowns
channel surfing wipe outs burst the beer keg bubble
college students scrutinize collage covered caramel lumps
hotel hellhole in a bagdad camel hump shootout
silent speaker phones stare blown out by psychoactive candles
brass band shindigs gang banging the tuba tube sock baseline
base camp assaults on a contraband blasting cap
derelict dumpster hauls lost in the kabala junk heap
celebrity death wishes caught in the crossfire suicide pact
actors benign motions masturbate corporate riff-raff financiers
spliff smoke chokes the eyesore split screen slow-mo replay
half a day is enough to scuff the shoe black newness from your chaps
maitre'd handshakes the clambake smoke of the guest check replay
levitating the cinder block off your leather high backed excuse
expletive greed grabs words right out of my cerebellum
leaving lily pad liftoffs floating in the frog pond graveyard
cut to commercial
scene 1 ext day - outside jelly mold's home
Theme Song:
happy happy happy hoppy
hoppy hoppy hoppy hoop
sappy sappy sappy soppy
soppy soppy soppy soup
pappy pappy pappy poppy
poppy poppy poppy poop
Fade in:
Bunny suited underpaid actor jumps perkily toward the candy cane gate
wicker basket full of pastel eggs
and flicks the sugar door latch and scratches his rabbit crotch
crocheted curtains part to show the pseudo-plucky girl in a pigtails stare and roll her eyes
POV hothoused rabbit suit:
the lolly swirl door opens and girl with blue checkerboard dress and white pinafore
bounces with double-barreled shotgun knockers and circle blush on pale cheeks
Cut to:
RONNIE RABBIT
Hi! I'm Ronny the Rabbit. You must be Sue!
SUE
(chewing gum and twirling it on her thumb)
Uh huh.
RONNIE RABBIT
Have you been a good girl? I have happy eggs for all the good boys and girls!
SUE
Uh huh.
RONNIE RABBIT
Here. Have a pretty pink one!
Ronnie hands over a large pink egg in his costume mitts to Sue's French manicured paws.
A bit of gum string sticks to his fur.
SUE
(non plussed)
Thanks.
RONNIE RABBIT
(Shaking free of the gum string)
Okay Sue! Have a Happy Super Double-plus Good Easter!
Sue rolls her eyes and closes the door
Cut to:
Ronnie Rabbit in his worn brown costume hopping out the candy gate up the road
He stops and scratches his crotch and turns to wave at Sue in the jelly mold house.
Cut to:
Sue in the window staring up at him and giving him the bird
Cut to:
Ronnie the rabbit shrugging his shoulders and hopping out of frame with the house in the background. Suddenly the house explodes.
Ominous theme music
Fade to black
ANNOUNCER VO
Kids, never take candy from strangers.
Brought to you by the Department of Homeland Security
And now back to our regularly scheduled program...
3
2
1
the sacred and holy shindig shivers with rapture spasms before the revival
revealing recent conversions to fascist eating ho-ho ho-hums
white comatose pawns come kneeling on the pews perfectly
passing time before the gaggle of gods castoff robe wearers
reviews the guest list gore fest before the brimstone buffet
sashay in the finale theme song segue way to the polywoggle breakdown
simulcast simian hand jobs boggle the syphilitic zoo station
nations have waited for the rim of the sun to trim the firebird mantra
only to be left briquettes from the sons of their plethora
Brought to you by Kingsford charcoal: Lights first. Lights fast.
Stay tuned for Paris Hilton in “Bottoms Up”
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Ask the Fruitcake Lady
The best of a segment of the Tonight Show where a nonagenarian dishes out advice to her less experienced viewers...
Monday, February 26, 2007
headline hangover
flagging words flap in political filibusters
the ripple of data distillers and economic effervescence
slaps paper handshakes folded on paper stands
guttural rubbish runs parallel to the curb
only disturbed by street walkers washing in troths of chewed cud
music bakeries wafting notes in the chill cacophony
the warm shiver of art on a sliver of concrete
make for contralto breakfast before the news breakdown
in the town of hard-ons and come downs
the phalluses of glass and steel protruding and teeming
pointing to a sky that stares vacantly blue.
the ripple of data distillers and economic effervescence
slaps paper handshakes folded on paper stands
guttural rubbish runs parallel to the curb
only disturbed by street walkers washing in troths of chewed cud
music bakeries wafting notes in the chill cacophony
the warm shiver of art on a sliver of concrete
make for contralto breakfast before the news breakdown
in the town of hard-ons and come downs
the phalluses of glass and steel protruding and teeming
pointing to a sky that stares vacantly blue.