coyotesuspect

Technically, it's still Tuesday in California for a whole 'nother 29 minutes.

The way the author of this poem plays around with language and pop culture references really appeals to me.

Hard Day’s Night of the Living Dead

“Uptick in suicide seen as a sign of recession?”
(poem AGAINST suicide)

Don’t look back, the Morton Salt Girl
cried, There’s a bad moon on the rise…

which I do not think happens anywhere
in Sofia Coppola’s film THE VIRGIN SUICIDES,
I do not think it happens anywhere
else, but maybe it’s the trees in my lungs -
it’s not the Dexedrine. Receding, I pop
a black beauty & then another & so on
& now I am young, gifted, & black now,
canonized? Maybe. I expire on the tiny punk
heart of the Crab Nebula. How many
heartsprains & how many bloody drumsticks
we just can’t stop gnawing on? Here
we rage bereft, everyone is passing
on, but in Paradise no one is passing
gas, everyone finally relieved. Ah Verona!
if there were only some kind of future & not
just sexy grammar shouted from the marshes.
Fill me up with Premium. Feverish, fibrous
& generally trying not to die, I need guidance
with heaven just a seizure-alert dog
on an invisible lead. This, our weepy
bloated saga so natural but then
the sun is natural & so is tobacco.

-- Truck Darling