Poetry

Matthew Bass


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20 february 2012

Free Thought For Food On Foot





"Look at your feet when you walk"   
not up, cuss words unspoken   
"personal space asshole", broken   
cement, jackhammer, hemorrhaging money   
smog, green smog, the spector of   
defeatist chattering mindlessly   
endless status symbols.   
  
To win, not lose   
to not be successful,   
unhappy, not enough time   
take a breath, not enough   
time, time is money   
Wide awake wet dreams   
with the dream whore   
on the billboard alone   
licking her lips   
alone alone alone   
by ourselves in a crowd   
  
tripping over garbage   
and piss on the sidewalks   
beware, defecating on the street   
is a €500 fine   
and a state funded   
neutering, spent,   
exhausted, all the wealth   
in a glass bonfire   
half-full of oil.   
  
An ice breaker, a joke   
a funny anecdote to pass   
the intervals between   
the cherry and the filter   
and a dry martini ritual   
one after the other   
in a little black dress   
or fine Italian suit   
to end the day in the dark,   
a minute a flash, a bend   
in space time matter, a   
self-fulfilling hangover.








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