Whenever baked
I dream of Pittsburg
and this dusk
is no deviation.

Everything in the dream
beeps at me derisively.
Gas pump. Smart phone.
The microwave kills the salmon!
Toothbrush. Sex toy.
Every God-damned thing!

If I had any balls at all
like my primal Uncle Hank
held out against the wheel,
I’d smash them with a rock.
But I’m still weaning on leisure
and counting my remotes.
Regretting my vote, of course
which we all do, inside Iron City
or out. So that’s not a key article
in my pipe dream at all. No. I have
minor bouts of incubus
and this dark
is no deviation.



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