The Ticket and the Lecture were an experimental
dance-pop
poetry duo from Statin Island, and they twisted
around the made-up minds
of the tea-cup Uberclass, intellectualizing thought
itself while calling it illusion, and they fucked
everything up the trail painted gray, so to speak
jumbly non-rhymes aplenty flowed
like breath seeping, through the air-brush
daytime taverns called shit
like Twisty’s and Fidget’s, stupid nonsense
like most of it always is
in the country, except the fields
I guess but who cares?
Because ain’t shit
out there anyway, wandering aimless
dummies down a path to doom, whichever
direction they end
up heading, smashers hypostitize
from centuries abstract, crushing cream puff
pillowcase pieces of shit, in the city too
as all and sundry are hollow, saying and meaning
nothing at all at any time
anyway so shit, might as well
go to McMulligan’s China Bistro and Tavern
at the bottom of the sea, drink the day
away like a shot, just write your name
in the sand with a stream, cadmium downgraded
from the gin, plumb death infinite, because depth
is too hard to make flow, though a reality.