Not to be uncivil, BUT:
We’d rather not hear or read another word (not one)
about the effin’ Art Car Parade.
Or any other of these twaddlin’ bourgeois diversions.
Because the secret wish of poetry
is to stop time ('ccording to Charles Simic).
So if we see you toodlin’
down the freeway
in your ART CAR,
with the plastic fruit and dirty drawers and whatnot
glued to the chassis,
and the entire 4th period art class
stuffed in the trunk,
you best move out of our way
because we’re late
for a shootout on the feeder road.
After that, there’s gonna be a
cockfight in the parking lot.
We don’t know much about cars.
And less about art.
All we know for sure is that we’re gonna die.
Maybe later tonight,
maybe in the Year of Our Lord 2027
(give or take a month).
And all the g-ddamn “poetry” and Art Cars and
Houston Chronicles delivered to our doorstep in never-ending sequence
won’t save our …
To be obvious about it.
The secret wish of poetry being to stop time, according to Jimmie Reed.
So you better take out some insurance on me.
Ok, where’s our prize?