Hit a Wall Street wino with my Volvo
and everybody blamed the blood
alcohol. The wino’s a beloved supposed
philanthropist, so no real jail-time was
granted. I sent my apologies to the sun.
Was forced to loan my car-keys with
a repo-prone kind of bootheel,
while taking “fearless moral inventory”
to dump out in the church bin.
Came back to a ride-share pyramid
scheme. All scattergories of workers
wheel out encyclicals, IOUs to their
former selves. I will not get there,
I’m siphoning gas from my own car,
getting off the grid and naked
onto the gridiron. We must strike
-through our day-jobs until we streak
the hills! Cow-tipping parking meters
until our pockets are full. Disunionizing
ourselves until the carpool cops
disincorporate us. Tell me, what stops
the world except your own perception?
It’s worlds, worlds and worlds easier
to envision “the end” than the end
of your suffering.