Every
era anachronism, soft-shoeing to pantomime beats
Dangling
pocket watch timing forgotten childhood feats
Hipster/luck
paradigm in warehouse incited dance
Without
reactionary violence inherited solely by first world chance
A Kinko's employ falls neon among dark
Clutching
Sharpied flyer promising ecstatic city spark
Vintage
stitched passion now apathetic through wash
Ironic
ink cultured to argue Rodeo Dr. posh
Abandoning
his Honda to compete at shining fixed gears
PBR
bandying with pill swallowed fears
Bass
sounds beating through trundled asphalt
Looping
electronics whispered among vaults
"There
is liberty in youth; you are nothing to fear,”
Juxtaposed
with vexation, the subconscious leers
"Reveal
yourself, ghost,” he yells at the lot
Nothing
uncovered here between his unconscious plot
Trembling
fingers twitching to be warmed
Heart
pounding deeply before logic unformed
A
car pulls forward, gaggling of hip speech
Hoping
communal to forget reason without reach
"Hey
man,” is shouted, “do you know the cover?”
Five
dollars, I think,” said to corporeal other
With
that soothing exchange the world slows to flesh
Intentionality
remains with nothing to mesh
Sidestepping
quickly to a line of no blame
ID'ed
for $5 dollars, continuity the same
Once
immersed in the darkness there is nothing to fear
These
hallucinations impossible when there is nothing to hear