gave gerald the 40 bucks but he never
gave me the two caps he promised,
just old jokes and crackpot theories
about gravity strings and leprechauns,
subcutaneous microchips and falling
angels. i’d still prefer the two caps.
i want hard results, an explosion in
slow-motion reducing me down
to a gaggle of singing shrapnel. so
much for summer’s hydrocodone:
lick the bag, make a wish. a ghost
is always stuck in that moment
before the paint dries, that hour
before the luggage clears customs.
squeaky cloud cogs. sci-fi lego sky.
bramble and thistle sabotaging the
construction site. stuttering pirate
parrot. the courtoom drama’s
shocking twist, the beat cop
just looking to make the quota.
how close we come to mystery,
with only algorithm standing
between being human or a
burger king beef cow! moo.
Darrell Epp’s poetry has been published in over 100 magazines on 6 continents. His third collection, Sinners Dance, will be published in 2018.