March 1, 2009

The Neighborhood

The revolution started because of a
polar bear costume rented by a Dog who
believed the rebirth of our nation was
held in the hands of a stripper standing in a hurricane
naked and knee deep in Jell-o pudding snacks
falling off the truck of love into the shallow pool
of self-loathing.

This was when the wolves were quiet and Dog’s howled
for a drink that quenches heartache and loneliness
while standing on a broken bar stools
made of kicked wood/cracked leather/worn steel nails,
all this Dog could do to keep from crazy
was to wash his thoughts like the Chinese man washes
his sidewalk.

He purchased an electric leaf blower
for his San Francisco front yard that only needs a rake,
his neighbor bought 25 horsepower lawn mower,
so he ran back to womb of consumerism to buy himself
the biggest most bad ass bitch’n machine
a ride on lawn mower… that he must drive in the streetto
turn around.

That Dog ran under the wheels of a truck,
loaded college students bound for Tijuana
didn’t realize he was committing suicide,
he knew the shinny glass across the street
filled with a cool liquor on a hot desert day
would probably rot his liver but was worth
every risk.

The drunk dog who followed the Marke
holding glasses of scotch/vodka/gin
was buried in a cemetery who advertised
on a stray newspaper at the back of the 38.
The coupon read: Buy one plot get another plot
free (of equal or lesser value) and She decided
to do it.

The girl cried when she found her Dog’s grave
and then the hurricane started ripping through houses,
frightening the neighbor with the lawnmower,
making children question what they do not know
because their innocence is a weather balloon
waiting for the turbine of a jet engine to suck it in,
spiting out confetti to rain down on the masses,
who have not seen innocence since they themselves
were children.

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