Fathom a market of goldenrod
(the genus that take batteries).
A secret garden for them, at a
bed & breakfast, perhaps. 8am
French Toast with orange rinds,
chunk cantaloupe. Sex sells. Walk
to Grauman’s, split stars for an hour
(because we’re so damned grumpy),
curl up in a toaster oven. Somalia,
Diebenkorn, and Baziotes. A
botched attempt at a door (1960s).
More on this later after I think
straight, fail to snatch the buzzes,
and piss on the pussywillow
during the Golden Globes.
