Monday, March 06, 2006


I wake up asleep, now
coming below
the Mason-Dixon line
stranger than strange
on a subterranean mass transient
calling language
the language line
committing, omitting, submitting
my collective guilt for all sins
or what ever it is called
the bridge not finished
that usual warehouse feel
everything beige
can not tell the difference
from wawa shade grown
holiday spas
or where I to get my
breakfast burrito like everyone else
classless prepackaged
and not like those
debt hieroglyphs
scrap heap politician
burrowing in production
painting metaphors
for prewar
shallow creeks
with mercury poisoning
abandoned to loading docks
door prize
all well meaning
track homes


Post a Comment

<< Home