strange currency

I see you stole my dream
for your art. okay. like
the Doritos commercial says,
I can always make more.
just last night I drove
your car to a strange new
Thursday open mic, which
was either the 29th instance
or occurred on the 29th day
of the month, I
wasn’t sure which.

I had lost you somewhere
along the way, but just as
I was about to turn the car
around, you opened the door
to the back seat and got in.
(don’t think even for one second
that that is an anal sex metaphor.
of course now that I say that,
that’s all either of us can think.
damn you, Freud!)

anyway, at the mic, I looked
in the corner and saw you
sitting zazen in an oatmeal-colored
karate gi. since I don’t know
what sitting zazen actually
looks like, it was something like
cross-legged. your face
was to the wall. I was the one
who experienced enlightenment,
though, when I realized
how your life goes on
without me.

Published by

R. Brookes McKenzie

what fresh hell is this

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