A helpless passenger of pen, a journal original,
Pastiche a la mode
By Tyler Lucas Mobley
That smudge on my desk looks like a long neck dinosaur,
always the best thing to happen, if it were up to me I’d live
off your kisses alone, if I look left a rubber ducky sails on,
lost in the magic at hand, Smash Bros boss battle, quotient
time was off, pinned to the ass in Martha Stwerts’s jail cell,
a frisbee golf eagle chimes, Hitler also grew a mustache on
his back called the Rhineland, Global Warming Foo Fighters
of the Grateful Dead it says on a scrumpled note neglected next
to a trash can, turns it over, Bob Dylan was an alien? That baby
that ruined your anniversary dinner is still crying, frigid fidgets
plum to the frosty pear, approval in the eyes, and you still made
it to work on time? the taste of honey, that dog expects the toy
to be thrown, tried using the urinal at Walmart, but Kamala Harris
was looking me in the eyes, an exceeding first bite, glad we met,
when a couple is just having a moment, and then there was light,
like we didn’t know the darkness before.
Letters of Measure 