Popping Over

I read a headline and contemplated
death and social insanity
until my southwest wrap arrived
and I watched the baby ducks
making a whole pie out of parts
the fruit and the flour
composing a morning of walking
from belligerence and balking
it is a desperately necessary
pessimistic alternation
up and about without waking
too obstinate to incorporate
plenipotentiary suggestions
the unseen with the plain
in the parking lot of the popular
I slip into a slot
walk across empty Swede Alley
to the gill-packed Main
swaying in weak ankles uphill
haltingly laughing down
for some exploring is revisiting
making your own what was not
like childhood was insufficient
requiring some big jump
popping over to the peppermint
all pining is left behind
step yourself over bank to bank
for a mind withdrawal
do not spend your last ten dollars
when a dollar will do
in the cool coffee cafe I listen
overdosing on angst
rhymes randomly generated
by fingertapping belief
in the kitsch of a broken voice
as repetitive as sincere
slipping over to the slim creative
calm simmers to a boil
like beads on a black bracelet
as colorless as oil
roll them in your hand and light
them up in flame
calling upon the name of the devil
stir me up with a lyric
of victory pyrrhic as christmas
spew me a few lessons
about mashing and brewing my years
served too sweet still
in the properly shaped glass
how many dollars per
tree with tinsel glistening
unaware of holiday
like a billboard it is everywhere
and everyday colorful
popping over the spaghetti bowl
onto the side of town
left alone so far by bankers
quiet as mice in handcuffs
park on the street and close the door
turn the radio on low
art on the walls and on the ceiling
brave as a scot or an arab
cockeyed and hassled as an artist
charged with travesty of justice
guilty of diversity of face
popping over the red lines
getting hands grimy and stoned
making the most and least
of crimes you imagined were serious
but slipped over the spillage
from the happily ever after
into youthful and I order
pie and stir white into black.


[edit: I added lines to the beginning and end to set up, frame and unite the poem.]


About mrsorenson

NOT my president
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