WESTWARD HO

I just saw Pinocchio running backwards across the pixilated landscape with

No, really.

The hamburgers below deny everything

but the abandoned vision of my own blindness--

it's the old house in drag--insulting me with dust, the breath of incest, & psychiatry

while I spy on my own mind & flail toward the memory of lies.

"If New York City is the mouth of America

then San Francisco must be its asshole"

All the words I have to say have become clouds

with the silence of a bruised facade behind me. . .

"I wish I could afford some cash!"

I'm somewhere in between