Monday, April 24, 2017

My New Yorker Life, April 24, 2017

A connection at first touch.
Learn more.

What if technology could help
on the stink highway.

Name & name
a mushroom.

Stay well.
What is your succulent?

Rarely the one you expect.
Trespass when it comes uninvited:

Artists of the south,

the great glass elevator: the world.
This tableau is positioned to contrast

the man behind the mind.
A sturdy stance and a blurred head,

the more ways to wear,
live your life

heavy metal.
Towering sets, ornate costumes,

thanks for finding us.
To evoke a single arc

for an original mix
as spare and unconsoled as anything

overgrown with facial hair,
she makes narratives out of gestures,

half-buried in a mound of sand.
Every spit take and sight gag,

what would that sound like?
Blows the stuffing out of seashells,

the temples of the southern state.
Who purchases a book will receive a rose,

the heart of a puntarelle.
Start planning

alarm at what they say, shock
like a woke hieroglyph.

Trigger the question
in my childhood bedroom,

smell even better in the future.
I wish my life was that free

with the culture, the attire,
the most precious vehicle

people want to see.