St. Louis, MO
the deepest blue eye shadow
over an archway
and the hole of a nail gun
the city breeze.
okay, body of water-let's hear it:
“I am Miles Davis. I am the
best trumpet player in the world.”
Brick Walker
She walks on brick,
knees on dress and steps with a spring
Huge head and nice clothes
kisses wind with her breathing
bad city air
“lay on the soft grass”
You are an author. You say, “Hey,”-I mean, your
protagonist says, “You and me are
you.” Popsicle.
Carl the Innovator
“man, i practice like 15 hours a day” -Charlie Parker
“man, i write like 45 songs a day” -John Zorn
“man, i hate shit” -Wagner
“man, i never take showers” -Beethoven
“man, i shove dead mud sharks in groupies” -John Bonham
“man, i don't even know what that means” -John Cage
“hey man.” -Carl
Shopping
the flowers that you buy at the store look nice
with colors and a virginal oddness that could make men and women all crazy and want you all over
so it is, and you are beautiful
a dear-looking lover of all the world's love to sing
the morning crisp and motionless for you
the bulb birthing new worlds, too
and I am stupid for your touch