Wade lives on the shore

–Shelley on the beach

Tootsies pad is close to both

spanning foot of each

Cliff and Craig are farther up

a hill they call their own

thick with scrub–where Dusty dwells

in broadly terraced home

Buoy & Gull alike will wave

from haven topping crest

while Woody occupies the drive

winding to the west

Sandy neighbors nearest all

–plays host at bingo games

blanketing the space between

those anteceding names

false hope

slithers

from the path

a snake

uncharmed.

I herd

“immunity”

s’inevitable. . .

like so much

livestock

on

CAFO

–there’s too many of us!

Knee deep in

the muck they’re runnin’

(’cause we can’t)

fattened on monoculture

(culture)

–gotta pump

us fulla

antibiotics!

(whether we agree or not)

so when we

go to market

–this little piggy, or that–

the profits they reap

(off our monitored backs)

are

“untainted”

cinema roles

ain’t as sweet as they used to be

–that BIG silver platter & chatter of nearby folks gone missing—

while the rest of us dish our own Kardashian slop,

heavy on the: I sing!

& so topical hot right up until the time of Freeze-Free’s

–audience all mandated missing-like, already–
 
 

ker*plunk goes the glacier, &

ker*splash goes the sea, &

ker*rap goes the 1 %

proper f*cked as the Rabbit Ears of a sudden

–them so-called Elites just as done in —

on accounta ain’t no one payin’ a way outta THIS one,

but whaddo I know?

I can’t barely afford this

here cinema role!

Comes time to realize

our side

of the teetering totter

IS

the fat kid

–gulping tepid TV

(2 pomps & splash of circumstance per cuppa)

filtered ‘n framed as fittin’

and Hulu?

who knew this kinda sloth can lose dead weight afore the mentioned Big Chill?

Chewin’ puffed corn & starin’ like we do

wide-eyed

@

blue-light

gaslight theater

–Coleman stove, really, because:

no pilot light–

which–

in tent city

is more dangerous without flame. . .

though it does prevent forest fires

–in this, our deforested world, an’

what’s a few asphyxiations in the grand scheme, anyway?

Ay?

(for the greater, more breathin’-like good)

I say:

Aye?

(the ayes have it on accounta everyone likes an Aye-man)

after dinner cafés

apt to keep 10 or more of us

awake nights

the one guy yellin’ at 60 feet away, blastin’ ear drums off t’other 50 feet back, and so on, and

so on, an’ so on, an’ so on, an’

nothin’ is subtle, an’ everythin’s disguised

‘cept refrain

in concert

halls

“Go gym dandy, go!”

(good luck with that)

& oddly, no correspondin’ emoji…

the lot of us rarin’ to dance now that nobody is well & truly lookin’, an’

hey!

I say:

Hey!

Lookit me, lookit me, lookit me!!

(for the lesser-like, like-me, like that good, but everyone loves is a showman)

–a right shame, but at least it’s clear

who’s

behind the mask, now

I am Narcissus

You are Narcissus

We are Narciss-

-I

pose

(iPose)

iPretend

iProp

iPost

gleaming reflections

of life

iDon’t

lead–

a myself

who doesn’t exist

–falling

(in IT)

–drowning

(for IT)

i live

& DPI

. . .

virtually

unknown.

Sometimes you’re out and about

and you see a shoe

–a single shoe, just lying there

and you gotta wonder. . .

how do you lose one shoe?

(is it a leftie or a rightie?)

Is the world full of Cinderellas running late?

In the case of the errant flip-flop on beach trails

it’s a Sanderella souvenir

(or Sunderella. . .or even Finderella)

a one-off from a mermaid with shore leave

rushing to return to the briny depths before 12 bells

–sun-bleached beach attire strewn behind her,

dune buggy just a shell of its time-sensitive chassis–

but what about the Converse sneaker?

(not those laced & paired over hi-voltage wires above)

the singleton. . .

what’s the story there?

Is that a Shirts and Skin-derella story?

a ballplayer just dying for a pick-up game

who shoots, scores, unlaces, and bolts before the buzzer?

seems unlikely. . .

but then, losing one shoe seems something hard to miss at POS.

Then there’s the work boot you sometimes see,

Clearly a “Done-derella” story

a: that clock couldn’t chime 5 times quick enough

“take-your-job-and-your-mandatory-attire and hit the bricks” classic

–shredded blue collar cut from the neck

it squeezed somewhere in the vicinity—

I’m just sayin’. . .

you never see a glass stiletto just

lying there as you’re toolin’ around town

–not unless you live near Hollywood & Vine.