poet rents a car

hello I’d
like to rent a car and
make it a fat one with shoulders
wide like the distance
between love and rubble

make it a convertible
revealing the interior of its intent
upon the highway and
into the opulent orange distance

you have one, don’t you?
a car with a radio
tuned to infatuation and regret
words and music queuing
for execution
passing the industry and ecstasy
houses framed with bone and devotion
streets built on eulogy and stand up routines
the tedious Walmarts of
suburbs in retrograde
where sorrow orphans play in
unending recession streets where
the shopping mall pedophile roams where
someone this very moment
impersonates Elvis

make it red and
make it cheap
art hangs in the balance like
bitter shoes on strings like
zoot suited moons with their
zippers down

what’s that you say?
you don’t understand
of course you don’t
I’m a poet








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