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Felix Dowsley




Advice on Weekending to Mr. Borland Lighelow Life




When the screaming asphalt preachers

Can’t score a blessing from your lunch money

Or reach you through your headphones and your scarf

While the crumpled paper crackheads

Steal the gospel from the rich

And take your greed to a motel for all she’s worth

Won’t your quickly pawn your Lexus

For a ticket back to Texas

To buy your mother back from the Earth.


If you have one of those days

When the crowds form a maze

And everyone you see you think you know

But your mapblasted Blackberry

Baked to cobbler with spam and your friends

Demand you Like their YouTube show

Won’t you drive out to the desert

Until your head hurts from horizon

And behold your sanded mirror all alone.


When the slithy toves are grubbing

Up your garden and your wranglers

Can’t prevent the pigeons’ shit and spittle

From tracking obtuse angles

Across the seashell mandala

You built because your meditations wandered

Won’t you arrange flowers like riddles

And stuff your mouth with skittles

To keep yourself from speaking with the conjurers.










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