(no subject)
i sat back down- a little high
now, a finger hook of happiness
hanging off the swing
of my black hoops like
a drunk trapeze artist
confidence crackers and diner coffee
love fat david with
crumbs of blueberry muffin
fattening my doubt
and softening my arrogance-
caught in the beard of a satiated trucker
at a bar so smooth and used
it could do nothing but
wipe wisdom grime into the plaid squares
of his elbows for all the
weight that landed in that beautiful
obscure bone and exasperated experience
sunk deep in the plastic.
his name was still bursting
like kernels in search engines
the last two years cooking results
like hot oil- i'd never imagined-
thought he'd fallen off the planet with Max's
here all my ideas about people
far behind or somewhere else
embedded too deep
in the ice crystals of miami-
that works miracles at preserving
the mundane, the glitz and glam
still myself trying to understand
and believe this city is not dead
there is life in this labyrinth
of asphalt tongues
lego houses, strip malls
and corporate playgrounds.
the cradle of yellow traffic lights
and empty streets evaporated,
like sleep was not half a
a mystical form of dying and rebirth
and the same steel nerves
climbing up light posts
and sleek green eyelashes
to the tops of palmtrees
unmoved in tar soil
got me buying the minuteness
and negligibility of my existence
the alleged planets
disposable ideas
and everyone else caught in
the thin translucent nets of
of suburban routine.
now, a finger hook of happiness
hanging off the swing
of my black hoops like
a drunk trapeze artist
confidence crackers and diner coffee
love fat david with
crumbs of blueberry muffin
fattening my doubt
and softening my arrogance-
caught in the beard of a satiated trucker
at a bar so smooth and used
it could do nothing but
wipe wisdom grime into the plaid squares
of his elbows for all the
weight that landed in that beautiful
obscure bone and exasperated experience
sunk deep in the plastic.
his name was still bursting
like kernels in search engines
the last two years cooking results
like hot oil- i'd never imagined-
thought he'd fallen off the planet with Max's
here all my ideas about people
far behind or somewhere else
embedded too deep
in the ice crystals of miami-
that works miracles at preserving
the mundane, the glitz and glam
still myself trying to understand
and believe this city is not dead
there is life in this labyrinth
of asphalt tongues
lego houses, strip malls
and corporate playgrounds.
the cradle of yellow traffic lights
and empty streets evaporated,
like sleep was not half a
a mystical form of dying and rebirth
and the same steel nerves
climbing up light posts
and sleek green eyelashes
to the tops of palmtrees
unmoved in tar soil
got me buying the minuteness
and negligibility of my existence
the alleged planets
disposable ideas
and everyone else caught in
the thin translucent nets of
of suburban routine.