Parking Lot Poem

Miles found ways to utilize time and space, inventing. We just exist as if that were ever enough, then Coltrane touches on the cosmic ineffable fixing your motorcycle by the side of the road, explaining why we should live in color, not sepia tones, sour milk and perpetual emergency room, exercising our freedom of choice, passing out lottery tickets of inequality our waking ritual, breakfast of mediocrity, self-satisfied drones of monotheistic endless plastic empires, empires of plastic surgery, the toast of the town, depraved money changers and emotional arbitrage, trading on hope, dope and celebrity everlasting, in whose god we trust, absolutely worshipping false American Idols, the slaves of freedom, because it is there, an excuse that covers up everything a red carpet death ward simplification, making life tidy, the suburban nightmare ordering chaos, a tombstone complacent pastime the rhythmic on-air male menopausal chatter, attempting to comfort the big guy football jock itch scoreboard burn rubber peel out gear grinding groaning peasantry for all that noise you solve life’s mystery bloodlust streetlights echo war, love and democracy for sale there will be no peace in our lifetime, Rome wasn’t built in a day and it didn’t fall overnight either, you can have it your way, you’re a lucky winner, shut up and play your guitar, you are doing your part for the war effort, keeping it going because you believe in yourself.

–James Goss