riding in cars was so easy in the

1990's

my hands stretched out to meet the gas station signs, bread and soup lines,

weaving through the winds soaking suns and easy rhymes

in their notions they sail the oceans and pound impressions upon the land

they tread

they find images in the books they've read,

and smooth out wrinkles and errant hairs with a moisturized hand and

and words in the sweetest sets;

they're sexy cool and bourgeois en el mejor modo posible

concomitant expectations that exceed themselves

and feed lacunae coil, ouroboros gorging

on its industrial flesh,

pale or glimmering or

awfully incandescent,

another product of a thousand years or more

of that proud progress into the unknown oblivion we call

western civilization

ruddy brown, we sit and scrounge the slowest chairs

on our hands our asses grow

broken unsung and largely unknown,

revealing but unappealing, verisimilar but pretty boring,

whisking a new century in our anxiety

mocking self-stroking literary circles 

and attitudes towards propriety