by Michael O. Starr
Instrument
Nothing like marketing overhyping their “new” (read: mundane, lacking in any and all novelty whatsoever) products
On facebook
Nothing like a pattern
Let’s bash over the heads
Repeat after me: I did not invent the such and such
Never too late for a career in art
Starvation is in
But that’s pejorative
Many make it, I’m sure
Just look at shampoo bottles
Lost in black emptiness
Cup of tea
Hot steaming
Nasal cavity
Lost in the woods
Never forget
To water the lawn
Fake products in the book store
Little rivulets
Nature’s panoply
It’s nothing new
It’s about people and their search for meaning/happiness
It’s nothing new
But that blue hair
Man
Presaged
Bespoke
Belittle
Man
Tuned to 21 hertz
Capital C caved in
Hurt his lumbar
Jostled with bottles of empty liqueur
Able-bodied hamper–
Hampered by
The nonsensical notion that a little light
Can cast such a large shadow
In the emptiness of a garage in the 80’s
Stave off these notions
And make way for the melody
—–
Michael O. Starr lives in California with most of his extant family and has a job in pharma. He writes poetry to de-stress and make something of himself.
