In a split second, we're Eastside, enlightened
like the three-flowered turnstile
like we're fertilizer being mixed in a wind tunnel
She saw the ball lightning, like a lit-up chakra, the bio engineered Tesla Coil of my groin
He was the epitome of pseudo prosperity
but he was an American, pro-honduran, merchant-prince, who went bourgeois for the hell of it
When the A-B-C method turns pot to barley
and a wide-rimmed man chooses a cheese scoop rather than nail his biting dog to the wall with a flutter kick
There will be a long-beaked station, who points its nose to the fire window
like poodle bars and college grammar, ready for more rubbers
Then, the rapture begins.
Frank Sauce
- By Jeffrey Bershaw
- from Portland, OR
- I'll try to write as little as possible. I'm a little man with high hopes, pipe dreams and little machines inside that keep me writing.
- More About Frank Sauce
- Painting by Anna Todaro
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