by William Skink

There is a place in Missoula I’m not going to tell you about because it’s a magical place that gives me poems. Many of my most recent poems were snatched from the ether of this natural landscape.

Perhaps the fabric of time and space is thin there, for this latest batch of verses appears to come from the not-so-distant future and authored by the victors of the class war.

Enjoy your Monday!

THE CULTURE CLASS WINS THE WAR
–for Richard Florida

stick a fork in it
your downtown is done
the condos all glisten
in the hot hipster sun

walk car-less streets
With geo-chip friends
from cradle to grave
they give perfect lens

back when complainers
made people mad
with negative narratives
about how we’re bad

discordant notes struck
and bothered the minds
of follow-prone people
with irregular rhymes

so happy that’s fixed
with everything put right
in new urban spaces
not one speck of blight!

can you feel all that culture
from the perch of your loft?
do you marvel at mixed use
whatever the cost?

single family zoning
you dumb, racist shits
must be destroyed
so the races can mix

because good selection
breeds a good stock
for convenient extraction
to get what we want