This guy in the booth in front of me is built like a small

pachyderm scaling rashes on the back of his neck these

coffee shops are full of broken people who lived here and are

dying now being offered their favorite chemical blends on the way

out and convinced it is the water cancering their lives while I

eat their donuts and pizza and see their fats reflected in

my face in this monitor and know one good flu will burn it all

off but these are the ruminations of youth lost of love of

the unrequited the gone opportunity noted while passing

through these small towns in Pennsylvania named after German

and Swiss counterparts adjacent to those named after coal mining

industries where fuelish fracking and roman calcoholicism rule the

poor more now than in any earlier life yet more significantly

there must be some solution to this leprosy whether self-imposed

or otherwise this unwieldy sadness steadily punctuated with

false hopes that go nowhere in this rising destiny of failing

flesh this son-of-a-bitch of a storm that curses each

horizon in our courses of progress delineated

betwixt the sacred and profane they’re

cursing Obama they’re cursing their

government they’re cursing the

Christ in between mouthfuls

of plastic pastry particles and

creamy GMOs so angry at

the way things were and

angry at the way things

are and angry on the

intricate way back to the

dirt that inexplicably must

smother them from end to end.


Excepted from PHOENIX ©2019/2017/2014. Steven John Thompson, PhD @steve.ws. All rights reserved.

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