OWN YOUR MIRACLE WITH A POTATO

yeah theres
eight billion of us

but theres fuck all else
going on
in the massive black universe

we are some kind of special
own your miracle
& act like it

no black star
ever painted its pets

on cereal box card

with a potato

YOU HAVE THREE HOURS

is

the propagation
of lensflare
in mainstream movies

like heavy metal riffs
in dish liquid ads

& mohawks on the catwalk

proof
of

freaks

winning

via permeation

or losing

via appropriation . . ?

you have three hours

no conferring

please show your working out
extra credit for sketches

NIGHT BREW

 

i feel a pungent

weed-on-the-wind 

kind of loss

& 

seven miles 

of california longing 

when i remember like a power surge

the recurring dreams i have not dreamed 

for the longest time 

~

its a sadness-gasm

its 13 by big star

its accelerator yen

& my limbic system force-stops the day

& frees up room in the panic of fomo

& the hope of hope

for the old maps

of the night-brewed never-was

A PARKSIDE FRAGPOP

the wind

wild with room

madly shakes 

the antenna trees

& out the sun slides

in a hiatus of birds

gifting dull shadows

pop art clarity again 

~

perennial memories include -

c&a ski jackets

&

a homemade bow

clouds like chefs hats

in

the stoned dome of sky 

NINETIES SNAPSHOT POP

 

on the estates dawn-yellow hem

the unwrapped cellophane

of fresh cigarettes

was tugged like a wind sock

in the commute-o-clock breeze

its rip strip

a silver tendril

friction clinging

to the hand-me-down fingers

of my bus fare palm

& the mezcal hangovers

were their very own drug

back in the radiohead days

that called my work boots lucid

& the flats great golden bales