car horns are mostly the devil

living in the past
can't keep up with the digital clocks
pastel like eggshell
on the beach
lost under foot
out of reach and fused
a con
green screen
never to be seen or heard by a live audience
we will be dead

'that's what she said'

bro jokes hold no weight in an honest debate
that's why they are fun
done
are the agricultural faux pas
lufas in the shower
and hot dog lunch hour
up with the sun
the loaded part of the gun
and the afternoon cinnabon mall excursion

'we bought the big tv'

we can't all live in the burbs
nothing unfair about that
brutal torture
trapping raccoons in the fan belts of our lexuses
babies crying
grandpas dying
and the barbecue is out of sporks
who will invent a solution
the sky is grey
and the oceans are crashing
it sounds like heaven inside the circle
and it smells like a smile

'get off the road you freaking Bike'

car horns are mostly the devil
we can never know who or what is right
who we can dislike
what is okay
but we write about honesty
and the everyday
and we ask the questions
we answer what we can
leaving the rest for the world to solve
evolving as we breathe
sans leave-

'the show is just getting started'

Photo by Fred Watford.  Words by Dustin Whitehead.