Brooklyn Can Always Burn Down


in the proper place
dinners gather flies
sparks in the fire of the end-day sun

deadly things are happening

so, you see
the hand-clapping is so huge that my glasses have slipped off my face

(the fly-blown dinner is some expensive meat)

my poetry won’t stick together
(i’m sure it is just silly at this point but no one will tell me)

but i love all those TV shows
they’re quite realistic
they’ve prepared me
and i can skip across the lake like a waterbug

Text and Images © Andrew Auten – All Rights Reserved