Tag: Poetry


Selling seasons, labor’s fruits exchanged. Another morning, what can I buy today? I’m nothing if not a consumer. If I’m not clever, then I’m not special. If I’m not smart, I’m nothing. Still, so savvy. Get that special deal. Bargains. For sale, one existence. Will work for purpose. If I don’t spend a cent, I’m useless. Why bother even being an American? Paying rent doesn’t provide the same thrill.

That’s where we’re headed: houses, transportation, fruits, vegetables—all free. We’ll only work for more consumer goods. What a wonderful world. Shop ‘til we drop-out of empire status. No need to buy the staples, so buy an automatic stapler. It saves time! Time you could be spending shopping. And take a tablet or two. One for the pain, and one for the bathroom. Stare into sleeping phones and question your reflection. ‘Tis the season. Season’s giving us meaning. Give away your life. If not spending, joy is ending. Fork it over. Buy a fork. Buy a whole set.

Everything is a Restaurant

I was walking downtown

amidst the trendy, ugly, popular restaurants

& I noticed a new

Vegan Hotspot:

“The Persistant Pursistant

Perssistant Persistant

Persistent Vegetative Statement

Salad Bar”

read the marquee, perched parallel to the sidewalk


Nearby, women smoked in miniskirts

half freezing to death

while their men, near them, so close

tried valiantly to offer up their jackets

thinking: “This relationship business—

it really is

a business.”


I turned around

headed back toward

The Best Bar in America

across the river

I went over the bridge

leaving the lights behind me

Beside myself, I wandered

down the old bricks of Main Street—

wishing I was _____________.

a mason

a cooper

a carpenter

a machine

But not yet…

and probably not ever

I walked on the grass

all the way home

Positive Division

The scriptures of the voice, the banter of our imminent knowing. A strong course answered the explanation. Silence was baffled, so humanized. Shrouded under you, in any phenomena, you forget the star, imagine her in a world of waking sadness. Your doctors indicate your being above the fantastic depths of the senses. Not depths which could close the absurd body of dawn, but the positive division of a dream in great light. Would upsetting intellectual depths make our black rickets of veiled money the simply redemptive guests of one beautiful earth? Subtleties all. Inches of a dollar, the martyrs in the fabric of thought. Master the improvised to push any question to a doubtful silence. Realize saying the idea to produce the forced uttered archives suddenly removes the secret of any illusion.