one more for the road

Hey, here's the last batch of untitled poems celebrating 5000 of them. Thanks for reading, and, what could this mean?
Dada is the groundwork to abstract art and sound poetry, a starting point for performance art, a prelude to postmodernism, an influence on pop art, a celebration of antiart to be later embraced for anarcho-political uses in the 1960s and the movement that lay the foundation for Surrealism.
—Marc Lowenthal
Beware the ides of April...
but for now, untitleds!


untitled 1417


the steps so large
and
frightening

were ready for witnesses

and bouncing balls
.

the cobblestone streets
beyond
.
we’re not ready for either;
cars
drove precariously upon
their
surface

like ships sailing into
the
mystic waters
of
dreams and deaths.

we stood there
and
confused everything
as
human;

others
passed us by with
their reckless
abandon
,
but
we’re reckless too.
we go where we want
,

wakening.



untitled 2664 (new generation bottle rockets)


a curved smile spine
waits on
the lonely cowboy girl.
she has a green hat and works at the counter drug store.
she drinks the cough syrup for fun.
her boyfriend drives that old beat black truck.
it has rust in the tire drums.
it has ice under the dash.

a sweet precipitation
comes down the hills.
we
are kids yet again.

sweet summer time,
chase fireflies and bottle rockets.

she doesn’t know that she’s
pregnant,
he doesn’t drive so fast.

entertainers,
innovators
alike,
play your brass band music loudly.
last
chance.



untitled 4606


new still night
of
no old
men

chanting the rhythm of the
taxi
cab

in their corners
street

lamp indigo

we are cool
saxophone

entities
digging
dig

the sidewalk the
lady passes
the

crescent moon
crooked as an
eye sore
and shut

half wondering when oh when
will love be had


untitled 4390


believe in the rain windows

storm drain
faced

girl in the spider web

I shot down the airplane
and
it landed in your backyard

and it killed your
garden

and spit flame cool across the dash
of your

station wagon

go off the wheels
we fell
in the ditch.

point away
point

away the name of your old
boyfriend who
drank
himself to death



untitled 4201


words
ooze
forth bugs

and excrement

she runs across the parlor
and gropes the door
of her
lover
licking and kissing

away
the heart