fireworks

By Robert Greer

enforced fun (for the first five minutes)
after that, an ejaculating racket

ordinarily tortious but for the worship of the warships and what-fer
and for what?

the nationalism priapism bursting our biospheric bubble,
leaving us to float alone in the breath-strangled, star-spangled rubble?

hot dogs are barbed cocks slicing you up from the insides

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Photograph by Barry Yanowitz, used under a Creative Commons license.

Robert is a law student in Chicago by way of Southern California.  He has worked in presidential campaign offices, legal nonprofits, industrial shops, and oil fields.  His nonfiction has appeared on the Ordinary Gentlemen group blog, he has resolved to Tweet more, and he can be e-mailed here.

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