Thursday, January 22, 2015

THE EVERLASTING ALLEY

Bristle-
whiskered city 

fathers, come clean—
tell me
quick! whose the fuck 

bright idea 
was this?—panoply of gristle-

colored puddles—and pits
pockmarking

the murky snarl 
of grave-gray patchwork 
asphalt 

chunks—so abhorrent 
to even
the most anemic 
demands of motor traffic;

and which, for that matter,
barely seems
to accommodate its 
roughly unending 

occlusions of 
wobbly top-
heavy tubs—erupting like packs

raunchy spectators—as I 
and a deteriorating cockerspaniel 
march towards his back door—unwilling-
yet-

unwitting—
participants in this—so rich 
grisly 

pageant of your urban 
architectural piss.

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