NOT! : barrage of confident overtures

What Do You Owe Your Zip Code?

Hey, no smoking
on the go-karts.

We skid stopped past the
off ramp to browse this van:

a cult's old blankets
and off-season Clementines.

That's nice, that bracelet
jingles like a dancer caught

her ankle in the algae.
She is a Viking slave.

Take now, a night hiss,
a slur of proud-ass barns

and the crooked tickle
of satellite dishes.

Squint for rainy promises
or the rainy promenades

that never go down.
Oh, this is no cello analogy
you weepy motherfucker.

These parking lots
are places to park.

Issac sells safety
razors in the arcade tent.

You may try to barter
with a fist full of

swallows. Let me say
this just this once:

That's a long ass way
from a deal.