"Coke bottles float in a grid of blue joy, the spray paint hisses and skids, pseudo-gestureful, pseudo-pseudo, in fact, for I wept when it was built. Graceless audacity in the kittened crush 5 of the New York art scene ruffles my feathers still, one must have the economy of the surgeon, and double the price! A feted stack of Reverse Marilyns makes one corner dark as a swallowed pill. Staring through the repetitious window Jim angled and killed himself through, 10 my wild faces punctuates its gasping stab of hair, a cigarette stubbed in its hoarfrost of ash.... What can I see? Disasters, foghorns, flares, the wash... I wallow and skin-dive in the elucidating trash. Soupcans stutter to the shelf-edge still, canned elves... 15 The Hudson boils in its gum of sludge. In my last, stitched effort, two washed feet patter off the continental shelf, patter off, patter off.... America loves my handcarved off-the-rack! Beneath my retching heart, my lapsing gall bladder's turning in me, neon green."
From the collection "Contemporaries"
Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
More information available on gregglory.com.