Can You Stop Thinking?

Gravy All Over Everything - Video Poem

empty

32 oz. cans
of malt liquor
squib,
and squabble
back and fro
as the storm brews.
cries from
a single apartment
building ratchet down
towards the dirtied
sidewalks
as the storm eye
intensifies.
a bullet crests the
upper ridge
and blows through
the invisible
stop signs
as the approaching
storm comes
closer to the ground.
another birth,
more beer,
the drug dealer sneezes,
as a new election
tries to capture that
one audience.
and if nothing happens,
the storm will
ruin all of our futures.
the malt liquor has
run out as
the umbrella unfurls
and we all
hope that
there's an ear
that my receive
our blueprint
prayer waiting to race
skyward.

I Keep Losing My Place in the Story