by on November 12, 2013 :: 0 comments

your shoes are 8 track
recordings in rubberized tectonic plates
the stage, your destination
play that song like no one’s listening
like the audience died waiting
for your message to erase their dreams
or perhaps NPR is your wavelength
and you’re down with monochromatic drone noises
very well then, set your frequency to stun
and you will be
when the halogen nightmare creases your skull
and you can only muster a brown sigh
to offer the stragglers hanging on to
your useless soliloquy

editors note:

It’s all about bandwidth anymore; no need to have something to say. Keep it brown, brother. – mh

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