- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Smogocalypse
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sure,
Ashland smoulders
under a smog-red sun,
but it's a sunny decade:
cold-war icicles melting,
green, grassy, manicured yet groovy.
Yes, all you dada daddies:
All is high:
even the Harvey Pekar rain-drops
be falling up
into the sky.
See these are the days of askew:
So cheer up,
you'll get through.
Why don't you
take off your Dr. smog masks,
drop some lime-juice
into the shade around
an icily legal Coca-leaf-water,
and breathe in
some sweet Shiva toxic sativa?
hey, "even the Mona Lisa's falling apart."
- Pahlniuk
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