From my bedroom window I can see
the Farmers Foreclosure Bank clock tower
which used to belong to an
Earth-raping, bright-colored petroleum company.
Digital
I crept through an unlocked gate
meant to guard this piece
like the bullet proof glass
in front of the Mona Lisa
I entered the art world via a
Jackson Pollock impression on a
collapsing asphalt canvas
done in oil leaks, seagull droppings and
white lines
Cinematographers love this city because
there are no bad angles, they say
Not even Speilberg could fake more appealing
excrement smeared sidewalks