clocked awake, out to collect the debt of a day
immediate and ruthless
the labyrinth sinks the heart primordial.
practice a civilized way
to kill- monologues, diatribes collide between the glass and dash.
exhausted
streetlights fleck polluted tears. gulls overhead like lines of code
hack their way west cross static albino sky.
hey, wave to the neighbors, the genetic bouillabaisse
that watches your house when you're in Hawaii.
swallowing the interstate, growling, gurgling, your world
has not been built yet. techs are filing theories
designed to right the glitch, a mob of glands plot from under
the skin. green light. go. yield. stop
& let the senior float his Cadillac into the fast lane. pass
with your blow-up doll in the passenger seat
take the carpool lane with a straight face, dignified.
powerplays inflame, neon blips, cascades of flesh
rivulets of chrome, a deluge of bored mirrors
almost capturing a humanity with apparent purpose
-- oh, but to get there first, get there first, damn
gridlock & blasphemy. hey, Mr. Jesus fish
there is no God on the freeway until someone wrecks…
whirling in oil, a city appears.
no subtle landscape. efficiency in cloning. culture opening up
like Godzilla with hemorrhoid.
craftspeople wax the hills. tradesmen grunt iron.
billboards proselytize the deafening hegemony.
suits shrinking into measured boxes, prepared to convince
the thoughtless hierarchy that somehow thought counts.
& in the breakroom, TV news
flashes all the new day statistics deemed worthy.
brains flicker & succumb. cruise control on
with the punch of well-manicured index finger.
an accidental fingerprint of blood on Monday’s memo
from a temp’s papercut, the day’s fossil record of her being there.
show your teeth in a smile to the cute young clerk with coffee breath
& comment sweetly on her blushing. a gentle shade of red.
she won’t make the week. have you heard this?
tommorow’s sales meeting at 9:30 sharp.
quick, call the caterer... Tuesday is bagel, scones & jam.
erecting the faux-culture of perpetual demolitions
the hurt-so-good tragedy of sexed-up illusion & amateur voyeurism
an arbitrary lift or the grounding touch --
entertaining cheap beer & buzz cuts
fake tans & spandex dreams
cover bands & sports tv
punch drunk underachievers
over-compensating alpha-morons swingin' bullshit shovels
getting off the beltway, no one uses their turn signals
Detroit should know this, re-design, make a comeback
waving to Hector the boom mechanic selling strawberries
on the corner of Jones & Tropicana
112 degrees & even the lizards stop doing pushups
& hang cool in the cracks of unfinished retaining walls
flamingoes fading pink in the plastic sun
from an eastside veranda
wowed by the artificial horizon
lime green suits snorting coke off a Waterford candy dish
tweekers are cooking breakfast in a meth lab on Vegas Dr. --
marijuana & bananas: fry until golden brown (extra crispy)
neighbors are cloning anemic suns
disfiguring xenophobic paradise
worlds living in familiar private spaces
formula-fed & well-lit, allowing brief socialization
imagine the concentration it takes to master an elusive trade
poor bastard don't have the discipline, the refinement
to mow the lawn, obscenely symmetrical
or disinfect a tile floor, wife looming
in the grunge
scrape up off-white lumps of soured conversation
into the mechanical buzz of garage door openings
mental wheels squealing away in urgent escape
so suddenly reverent she rolls
prisoner of skin & bones
such a sweet jam (dolce de leche on toast)
flirting, drops an eyelash on the hardwood
stuck with doghair & carpet fuzz
indignant, gimme a break! mother contorts her mug
looking up as though dignity ruled from above.
Chris D'errico lives in Las Vegas.