Meltdown (Fahrenheit I’m-Not-Done)

Standing under the crumbling marquee, middle finger to the Bud Light truck driver,
troupe of just-off-shift firefighters,
and the hipster douche-bag with the Zooey Deschanel lookalike pinup on his arm.

I may be attracting the attention of the local crazy-police, arms waving, knees shaking from enough-is-enough, screaming, “fuck these bitches,”

but what I’m really saying is,
“fuck these witch hunts and this indecision;
“man, fuck these burning bushes and these burning bridges.”

My fantasy can’t be reconciled with my
so one must engulf and become the other,
I suppose.

Willie Watt


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