I dream of a day when edible forms of plastic will be in every food product, where Nestle owns the ocean, and Myspace has its own over-the-counter brand of crack rock. I dream of a day when I no longer have to wipe my own ass, everyone has a solid gold toilet, and the air smells like butter popcorn flavor jelly beans, “lifted” from the bulk candy store at the “good” mall by your “bad” friends. We’ll have candy cigarettes for lunch and hollow chocolate crucifixes for dinner. We will gather around the government alloted public gyro meat rotisserie and carve off our weekly ration with chainsaws. We’ll pray once a month to the G-dess (a poster of an 80’s model sprawled out over a neon green lamborghini wearing those light-up LA Gear hi-tops we all wanted so badly when we were youthful) Bears without their roller skates and Shriner hats will be shot on sight and contributed to the communal gyro pile. People will clap on the 1 and 3 while singing our global anthem (the doo- doo-doo-doo part of Uncle Tom’s Cabin by Suzanne Vega). Oh glory be.

a work in progress draped hastily in a forgotten prom dress.

Kept at arms length, to the far reaches of stone beaches and safe places

A faint trace of tainted space, embraced the taste of surrender.

A pale faced portrait, of an artist, in a stalemate,

on a mission, out his mind, off his meds, up the staircase.

Through the window, down the hall, written on the wall in spray-paint,

it's a pain-staking process, to offset this great lakes weight.

Stop, nobody's leaving, nothing shocking anymore

amidst the shock and awe and rock and roll, sulking in a satin robe

sullen, stunned, stoned, the phone been dead since yesterday,

we can skip all the pleasantries, I'll just take my fucking severance pay

It’s the same lonely stretch of road, ignoring scenic overlooks
The smell of tar and fumes, where the not so distant future passes by unoticed
Tire fires burn at the horizon, where the vultures circle
To stave off the end for another night or
Times a charm til dem bad tings come
Shifting isn’t changing stated plainly over drums
What shall we overcome today? I gave peace a chance, but at 17 I let it all F-F-Fade away
Sad sad state, in the last leg of the race, face first on the pavement when I fell from grace
Will is never free
Freedom is costly
Cost benefit analysis suggests we already lost it
No more, no less than the depths of my last breath
Unearthing verses til there’s nothing else left
DIG DEEP…