Felix Dowsley
Advice on Weekending to Mr. Borland Lighelow Life
When the screaming asphalt preachers
Can’t score a blessing from your lunch money
Or reach you through your headphones and your scarf
While the crumpled paper crackheads
Steal the gospel from the rich
And take your greed to a motel for all she’s worth
Won’t your quickly pawn your Lexus
For a ticket back to Texas
To buy your mother back from the Earth.
If you have one of those days
When the crowds form a maze
And everyone you see you think you know
But your mapblasted Blackberry
Baked to cobbler with spam and your friends
Demand you Like their YouTube show
Won’t you drive out to the desert
Until your head hurts from horizon
And behold your sanded mirror all alone.
When the slithy toves are grubbing
Up your garden and your wranglers
Can’t prevent the pigeons’ shit and spittle
From tracking obtuse angles
Across the seashell mandala
You built because your meditations wandered
Won’t you arrange flowers like riddles
And stuff your mouth with skittles
To keep yourself from speaking with the conjurers.
