& letters headlong
into each other
the future. Fusion.
AAAAAAAAAAA.
Big Bang. The Big
Apple, Atom's
behind him-
no sirens
in sight. His career
of careening
since-at six-
playing stickball
a car stole
his spleen. Blind
sided. Move
along folks-nothing
to see here. Driven,
does two Caddys
colliding, biting
the dust he's begun
to snort. Hit
& run. Red
Cross-the pill-pale
ambulance, inside
out, he hitched
to the hospital.
Joy ride. Hot
wired. O the rush
before the wreck-
each Cadillac,
a Titanic,
an iceberg that's met
its match-cabin
flooded
like an engine,
drawing even
dark Shine
from below deck.
FLATS FIX. Chop
shop. Body work
while-u-wait. In situ
the spleen
or lien, anterior view-
removed. Given
Gray's Anatomy
by his mother for recovery-
151. Reflexion of spleen
turned forwards
& to the right, like
pages of a book-
Basquiat pulled
into orbit
with tide, the moon
gold as a tooth,
a hubcap gleaming,
gleaned-Shine
swimming for land,
somewhere solid
to spin his own obit.
Written by Kevin Young
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