Late-Night Ramblings from Town

We exit the theater. The last usher chats with the person cleaning up the concessions space. The usher is waiting for one more theater to drop before he can go home. I pause to try and say goodbye, but the two are preoccupied. I do not interrupt them.

Driving Home from Work

Eleven o’clock in the dead of the night:
There’s many a short-order beacon in sight,
But scarcely a headlight, like LA film noir,
Has pierced the tranquility here in my car.
Daft Punk sets the tempo I feel as I ride;
Egg-bacon taquito sits close at my side—
O paramour porcine! O egg in my face!
I’ve truly Got Lucky when thee I embrace!
The joy that envelops my self, and I it,
The unpeopled city which darkness has lit
In contrast combine to some new form of bliss:
The joy of the night-owl trav’ller is this.

The Hollow Shells

I stare at my eggs,
Drowning
In salsa, and syrup from my waffle
Like the fallen stones of a building,
The pillars of a temple,
A pantheon
From some long lost civilization
Of chickens.

We are all of us completely high—
No drug-induced stupor, this,
But high on life,
On friends,
On dreams
And heady thoughts of zygotic avian culture.

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but some poet with a fork.