headline poetry

Our uneasy summer air is offending the Christians.
Sticky, heavy, spicy, wafting tendrils tease their nostrils,
Tempt their taste buds, and harass their salivary glands,
Calling out those 6 vivid temptations,
That send them to their knees in cold, dark, small boxes,
And send us to our private pleasures
In those cold, dark, large boxes we call movie theatres.

And so, Master’s guttural breakdown dismisses the Big Game,
Striking, hitting, rebelling against a new deal,
He seeks solace in hokey pastimes and piggish pleasures.

That’s when horse racing reached new highs in our marble lobby,
The pretty maidens from Cuba, Sri Lanka, Beirut,
And other triple-digit areas, beat all the odds,
Prancing gaily in our echoing chamber for the world’s camera eye,
Despite the heavy olive branch garlands straining their necks,
And the sacs of recompense bound to their delicate bodices.

And so, Democracy is resolved in France and California,
The taste sensations aligned and divine,
The stalks of the stocks embedded in peace and delirium.
The rest of the world weeps,
Having no wet resolution,
Only the dry toast of some uncorporeal host,
For bed and hearth, for supper and heart.