fifteen second spot

Dip my cell phones and sneakers in honey,
drop the paper money in the fire,
line up with the big guns
and fire away at the flat-screened infomercials.
Wash my leather coat in 5% juice
and watch as the caged dogs emerge victorious
from the shaving cream skyscraper.
They run to the glistening bathrooms in packs.
Float, float, float,
we live in a poisoned root beer goat.
I asked for a cherry on top,
but it was dead sour.


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