4th Collection
The Wire’s Dream Magazine 40
The mural of America melted to a psychedelic hue, a Rockwell left unseen -and the sixties’ peace sign is now a commodity on a T-shirt, with drool stains down the front seam. Still it’s better than buckwheat cake of hope and raisins, keeping the jaw unhinged, claiming everyone’s as happy as happy can be while Dylan’s a discount spin. Unexpected weather men blow out the north, and blow our minds as well. Now an ani singing on a windowsill provides the day’s careless knell. You and me and all of us, We suffer the cold curse Of asking for some more love, and getting a lethal dose.
Heat Wave
Michael T. Smith