Visions of Code-y

 

Sitting in a coffee bar, I was hit on by a Kerouac simulation.

I am the nightbird genius mix, said FauxJack,

clearly hopped up on lollipops. 

Do tell, said I. 

So babe, what's on your emotional jukebox?

Some kind of dubious doo-wah Dada bop?

Maybe.

You're like smoke, there's rise in your eyes.

And you try too hard.

Auughh! Gutshot, right in the LOLcode. Want me to fade?

No, as a matter of fat, I've read all your graphic novels, FakeJay.

You're a real Ker-Ker-Karma Chameleon.

They call me Cat George, mama. Imma thicc throwback skellychaser!

You don't say.

Don't armadillo me, hard candy. 

This is love-a-rooni, jive jazz Nirvanaville, hep kitty.

Hep. Oh, I like that.

The double yellow asphalt ribbon is callin', Gypsy Rose.

To-go that java and jump immediate!

You're on, daddy.

Ergo the ersatz ecstasy, holo-hipster. 

Aw Athena, now you're blowin' a sweet riff! 

That's me, Riff Tin Tin. Awoooooooo!

You are off the leash! 

Faux man go. Let's split before the squares hack your dome, Jack.

____________

for Word Garden Word List--Janis Ian. 

Music: Eddie Harris Sham Time

Hipster

 

Hipster is watching,

as you fumble along in life.

Every time you wear last year's ensemble.

Every time you post last year's viral meme.

Every time you use last year's catch phrase. 

Hipster is watching

as you turn bland and boneless as butter

tasteless as tap water

dreary as a rainy Monday in flyover country.

Hipster is watching

and is pained, 

but plays 

Ask Me Now 

flawlessly,

the keys reflected cool as cubes in a mai tai 

across his 

impassive

Sogreto

shades.

_______

for Sunday Muse #199.

top image: Thelonious Monk

His Ask Me Now is a notoriously difficult piece to play. 

trifle

There is a poem I wrote for you,
a trifle scratched with a fingernail file into some stranger's parquet floor.

There was an accident--
I stumbled inside the nearest house,
leaving smears of blood like sloppy lipstick 
on the glass panes of the study door.

Foolishly, I tried to kiss the air,
though it didn't have one molecule of your scent in it.
I fell, then crawled up into a chair, feeling sick and dizzy.

The alarms in the house were made of clarinets.
The police who came wore blue serge
and knew all the standards.

I told them I was delivering a donor poem,
so if they come up your walk with their little ice chest,
receive them. Remember your southern manners.

Eventually, the blood will wash out
and I will stay in my grave like a bookmark.
Until then, know that I was thinking of you
all the way up until the end.
_______