Armored blimps circling
while villains build home aquariums:
Know that when everything
is spider-cracked,
when car washes and
gas stations and banks
oversaturate suburbia,
no tablemaking demonstration
can save me. I light
a candle just to dip
my finger in the wax.
Envision my hesitation
as an oil rig. Snowbroth.
A lot of pennies
scattered on a bar crawl,
calling me to a newfound
sobriety, a tear in
the starscape I can finally
slip my hand through
to touch a blue-hot sun
ready to melt into a soup.
— KG NEWMAN
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