wednesday morning
anywhere
edward hopper scenes
from across the periwinkle street
sad, slouching sacks of flesh
illuminated in amber windows
small mechanized moments
between sips on coffee and the morning news
d.j.’s with no wit selling air
the hours that are never ours
even when we have them at our fingertips
barking dogs and booming bass
car horns and boat horns
scalding showers and unsatisfactory breakfasts
conversations that pass
into blandness or accusations
a dead cockroach that needs to be flushed
while searching for the hangover cure
another mass this, another mass that
politicians hanging freedoms like nooses
around that old poplar tree
blood on the leaves
that latest infotainment rag
glorious hollywood tits, glorious new york ass
all sewn up and bought and sold
rollicking commerce sailing down the river
echoing merrily, merrily, merrily
life is but the american dream.
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