places come and go
like the ppl who inhabit(ed) them.
i think of the anarchist snake-oil salesmen
the appealing attempts at a permanent bohemia
and meanwhile the rest of the world goes to work
at 7am or 11am or 3 pm to midnight.
but what were those hazy booze conversations?
we'll never know will we.
are we robbing ourselves of the ability to get on our feet
because we fear dying on our knees?
so we buckle
across coastal mountain ranges
looking to sell weed and maybe find a beach
for whoever and whatever may come
by the way,
not that many people want to hear
that special knowledge that you think you know
that their way of life is wrong,
but shit maybe they do
and maybe youll be pals for a while
and scheme like hell
over a million ambered porches
and marbled sincerities.
The bars glow for everyone alike
the marginally employed and the working stiff
and they really really want your $3-4 for one drink.
Besides, how many poets here can mouth the words
"neon midnight"? ((i know I can))
does foodstamped food really taste better?
can you find love in a dumpster?
i know the grass is perpetually greener
wherever you are not.
some aspire to change
some stay stuck in david icke's time loop
where the shapeshifters suck up yr chances.
and we'll get by
until we dont.