Ft Vending Machine
Collar 4:
There’s No Moving On
Yo Salieri,
maybe history did you wrong
or maybe you were an almost
Oscar winning prick
either way
History has always been mortal
just like the rest of us
we’re all corpses at some point
placed randomly or somewhat randomly
on the dartboard of a strip mall buffet table
on a sunny Sunday afternoon
They love: all you can eat macaroni
and pub tips
and we’ll love to play darts
when you love me
we’ll love to play darts
so don’t sweat it
ya sweaty tombstone
don’t sweat it
even though
everything’s always sweaty
everything’s always
the perfect hat that doesn’t fit me
everything’s missed field goals
followed by the possibility of touchdowns
followed by the fact that I was
goddamn certain I’d asked
Word’s Auto Correct to stop
fucking auto-correcting
me
but it refuses to obey orders
just like reality
just like that first time
I saw her
and how I unsuccessfully tried like hell
not to saw her
because I knew she could be
the end
of me
and for a long time she was
and always will be
but fuck,
you either lay down
or you spend the entire weekend
watching The Six Million Dollar Man Season 4
in a not-quite laying down/haven’t-given-up-yet-
only-semi-laid-down-like position
and as you know
I sometimes hate to lay down
and Season 4 of The Six Million Dollar Man
if beautiful!
so
you know,
no choice!
when every second
is choosing
I choose the latter
if by latter I mean beauty
I choose beauty
over Vaseline
wounded humanity
over total robotics
Instead of the steak
I choose the cow
So let us throw their goddamn
laser rifles
to the ground
Darling!
grab yr great dress
and follow me
down the hallway
past the locked doors
behind which
the politically savvy
sleep the dead sleep
of cheap tippers
and I will build you a fort
out of available vending machines
behind which
barricaded between
entombed Snickers bars
we can
make out
(part 4 of a four collared poem)
Multiverse Johnson 