SPIN CYCLE

SPIN CYCLE

Pants looped after too many belts

don’t promise success or bail free

waters under dirty skies every

mixture says don’t when the balance

beam broke into a foxtrot just inside

the screen door where love splashes

on the rocks with the sand in the glass

falling faster than angels and stockbrokers

with sad suspenders oblivious to the spring

in the step of the dreamsick broad ins
stained sweatpants cleaning out some boxes
for the rats to pray in the safety of their own

hunger wrapped in cloverleafs and buzzed

by choppers on the label of the hash can,

is all I saw all day.

Shut up will ya’.

The vicar’s got a full count and a nasty

crease in his trousers.

His hitting streak is on the line and the laundry mat

could regurgitate on the way to actual soul music

in the busboy’s shuffle.

 April 5^th, 2012