12 April 2013

Blissed

Sipping on the Oskar Blues but I don't feel that way at all.
Every other word out of my mind isn't humble enough for you;
so I sit here and strike out passage after passage, because
I feel too good for the norms imposed by the Drunkard Canon.
Maybe they just weren't doing the right stuff, just the write stuff.
I've spent my time at the end of the rope, morning after PBRs
stale bong water and the like. The goddamn grey Michigan skies
which are only fair for how otherwise great this place is.
Sure Detroit gets a bad rap, but for what, Robocop? Eminem
represents the 313, but only for what it used to be. I look forward
because I don't have eyes in the back of my head; roll over, roll another.
Strip away all the bullshit, the colors and layers upon layers, sedimentary
cityscapes, re-purposed skyscrapers, get higher and higher, but never rise.
Maybe we could all take a lesson from the persistence of hard times
and the people who don't turn their back, instead turn the shattered glass
upon themselves and see the fractured thing they've become, only to
remain and see themselves rise and get high once more.

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