everything miraculous

everything's miraculous
haven't you heard
the beard salesmen told me on 3rd
and 13th street. a man w/ a beard
who made beer from his body hair's
yeast. this is actually true and not
something i made up. i'm prone

to it though, lies like voracious
grubs inside of mushrooms or
walnuts. once it's open i'll
lay an egg, hello offspring,
these dour self-recordings

spin too many rhythms out
the door, instead of holding them
like an ear, and digesting. a
venus fly trap here, acoustic,
acid-wise trip-wire shuts upon
an insects wiggle. what the fuck.

our bold luncheon aside,
this trip's been miraculous.
stevie wonder's blind & i
(some sad pale luncheon kid
with a hex arm-band on in
the west village, robbed recently)
confess to receiving mediums (media?
recently? fuck all!) from ham-fisted
sailors nocturnal, tweeting &

fucking all night on their
social media sweathouses,
boldly floating the ocean
the world over.

i hate pepperidge farm
lunchable and i've always
wanted to kill.