CLOTHESLINE EMERITUS
Pedro is in the maze
of sagebrush unadorned.
Useless driving him out,
they are flowering plants.
He carries fava been cans
filled with stones,
still loves the thirsty
thankless rains we have
deemed unreliable.
THE REVEREND ROBERT BEASLEY HAS CHOSEN A TITLE
FOR HIS MUCH ANTICIPATED SERMON
''ARE THERE ART CRITICS IN HEAVEN?"
Seems like there are a few hanging around
knocking them back with Kinkade
and that dude, Richard Prince. Unofficially.
No tours or walks as of now.
Check your enlightenment calender.
PSYCHIC PROTOCOL
Angry protesters agree with me,
this levitation is temporary.
Monoliths drift in the auras
of their own reconciliation.
Despondent breaths aside,
see the dust find an equality.
All the while the teapot
brews clandestinely.
What's with The Smoking Gun
of such ethereal abbreviation?
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