No pimped out pocket rocket.
No selective serotonin reuptake
inhibitors, erectile dysfunction tips,
or magic carpet rides to the front steps
of your posh brownstone, permission slip
pinned to your pima, wine-dyed tuxedo shirt.
Sometimes the only way to figure out what something is is by affirming what it is not. Not the most elegant process, but it gets the job done. Usually.
I’ve just revised this shifty midsection of a playful, visual poem called “This is Not”. It’s getting close…