Wednesday, July 18, 2012


When things were groovy
there were places we could go
all the time and not be scared
of the tidal flux of the titular
glow of the cambered news cycle.
Methods of disdain were easily
grappled to the ground, overcome
and muted with a surgical, yet
human precision. The mathematics
of quaint exposition were tried
and so we could count on the disciples
to fathom the quads, rubbing any knots
or kinks into blissful oblivion
while still paying close attention
to the bigger picture, as squalid
as the outskirts appeared in newsreels
and tabloids. We had clarity, which
would make for spirited discussions
in automobiles, public plazas,
hotel rooms, conference centers
and malls. We stood at the screwy flank
and sputtered, frosted from air pucks and hard
finger flicks. Eventually, we cleared and relayed,
tantalized by the prospect of obliteration,
embraced by all that would come.


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