Green

in the twentieth century,

in the second to last prime

before the end if we use

the two-digit demarcation,

the pop song numbered

eighty-nine asked if we

should talk about the

weather or the government…

 

may we should get up

and tell our significant others

you are the everything and

stand by them like Tammy

Wynette stood by her man…

 

unless you suffer from main

character syndrome and you

think playing world leader pretend

is the be-all, end-all of fantasy

roleplaying, then you’re definitely

the wrong child in your family circle,

your entire social circle in fact…

 

and now we turn to the holiday

festivities and we consume the

barley orange crush that’ll turn

you inside-out several hours

into the future, and somehow

you remember your time wearing

a hairshirt because you were a

fuckwad in front of God and I

remember California even

though I’ve never set foot there…

 

and now we should leave this

exercise in pure bafflement

untitled, but green seems like

a better title even though the

cover art is orange…

 

far from borange in fact