Poetry
She gets the title wrong of every song.
I’ll spin the vinyl,
The style for her tik tok is
exceptional.
I saw the movie, but don’t have the range for it she says,
I can’t have a character
On Paper
Ink on paper
just makes a mess.
We are all naked in front of
The poker dogs.
Maybe this will hold your fanfare,
The robots will make you show your ribs
In front of the poker dogs,
Or in front of the robots fitting in
before they put you back into hyper sleep
and plug you into the mainframe quantum in
a glowing blue
plexi glass display case.
You might have the velvet and cuff links,
Your her paradise charm
Your the riddler
Or the Ritalin.
Ice hits the glasses
Others at masses.
Frenzy fancy consumption,
A play on 4 murders
That
Keeps you living.
Man made lemons out of two different fruits
It’s a construct
of the squint.
Hand in bandages,
Torn flesh
Desire
Where is the care.
Here?
Stock jokes
Near death
When things are real.