cough man

seams unstrung stringing sing song on a
duke ellington juke
while darjeeling bitter steeps on the marble
table tops of gypsy jazz
and crayon colors whip gem green dough
from double stitch skinnies -
no foam.

SEVEN droogs scanning top to tale
seesaw tripping the free bin suffice.
who's jock sharp enough to buy an honest coffee
grown some place in the shade
by some singer with a name
dragging paddi rice through neon fields
stead'a dropping the month's on sun shades?

everyone is no good, false fake too busy
and the head chisels in this kfc frenzy.
the FOURTEEN will get you where you need to be
and back again
(with a torn orange transit this month)
banking on catching a drowning jumper
that cannot pay.

the green man chirps and the dogs waddle
their wares; on the rocks;
on someone else's block, who got famous here
and wrote a book about it
another book for the kaleidoscope shelves
begging for the top of THREE minutes
just to find something you may not be looking for.

the tip tap typers sit in their roasteries
thumb tacked dot to dot on the map of the world
squinting hours eating away as they crave create
the future
with a pinch of hing and apple cider vinegar
and tweed duffel bags that find their ways into
international sleepercar crevices.

the day will come and has come when we will
stand on the mountain, the silver mount zion
(tra-la-la),
and not double back at the copper penny scatter.
with finger snaps the pastries will order
along driftwood park benches overlooking cities
we begin to claim.

scatter like pennies that no one picks up
but we turn, heads up,
to grant some sort of hoorah-la to the not in a hurry.
monocle maniacal monarchs
we spread like fiery sparks to cover boundaries
pounding with carrion. we pray on prey on prayer
wayfarers.