by Patch One

apparate from gray non-sphere tonality
2 drink away the brite street over-interneted
people overshadow one another blurb
reduced in facial data bank
robbed of yr unstress palm sweat
w/ the sound quality of 100 rottweilers
barking on speakerphone backed up
box truck's roof scraped by tree
branches in this hopelessness
urge to go back in time and "alter"
all the members of the eagles
before they get a chance to write
hotel california we lay prone
in the graveyard 2 plead that god
will grant us the great grace
2 disassociate responsibly

Patch lives in Portland, Maine fairly close to the baked bean factory which will soon be torn down.  They have self-published several zines of their poetry and ms paint art and spend a lot of time thinking about the sound of drums and the look of death metal.