The Golden Cough


There’s a bottom, see
we’re spiraling in a digital way
toward the apocalypse

I never believed in a new age
but my heart is warm and clicking, see
Tom Brokaw on the television
in glistening high definition

He’s saying to us:
“Watch out fuckers

The plant next door is moldy
with rust swimming up the smokestacks
and rats setting up shop, see
them against silhouettes of robot welders

Mountains of poly-soda bottles
shed red white and blue prisms, see
them blanket the horizon
with caffeinated mystical sparkles

Somebody is yelling RUN! under the purple jello sea
and we fear the marrow-terrorists
who strike from within
and we doubt the validity of our good credit
as our homes go up in blue flames

There’s a line outside of haggard men
slouching and ruffling through the valley
sometimes turning back and taking stock once more
of the monumental decomposing minivan
they once helped build in a rainy century

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Filed under poetry, published work

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