If the spectacle of Blondie and Cher
have not made life worth living
to this point, I don't know
what it means to truly live.
I thought that was what you said
last night, thumbing through a copy of
grocery store pulp,
your knees tucked up
to ward off my eyes that could not stay
glued to the on air orgasms of
the lady chef with the ham and cheese sandwich
in her mouth and ratings on her mind.
That is so fake.
Everyone knows in their heart
that Pearl Jam
set the bar on life and
every other artist
either hangs from it like beaded curtains
or dead weight.
But, there's nothing else on.
I already checked.
