tailpipe dreams

misaligned mirrors shine a light on the white and the scattered wrappers and shredded convenience store straws. beams of love through the modern makeover package. stripped of identity and meaning, the day plods before me like the golden ghost horse of tomorrow. zapped and gleaned, stretched and cleaned, the morass, the crevasse, the golden arches of the rising valley. breast bags and tulips, sandwich bags and quick sips. all in a day's work behind the invisible plow, the modern cow. compensation for the deliverance of excess and desire. who delivers the feed and the fire?

tangled brambles

lost in the lurches of time, i sit here propping the possibles against the probables. heading to the reckroom, i wish for the back pager to dance like she did the night before. not knowing the last name of the sergeant in arms, i referred to them as dusty, luster and musty. it didn't matter that the time on the meter had run out. the maid was waiting there with high heeled sneakers. the brambles, all tangled in the distant camera vision of the headless sports aficionado. don't pass the buck you stupid schmuck, bring it on home. bring it on home. bring it on home