Thursday, August 18, 2016


You won't find Family Dollar in the 90210.
You won't find Instant Pussy at The Peach Pit.
You won't find meatloaf in a Cracker Jack box.
You will find me sweating it out with Dylan
and Brandon in one of those quaint lodges
somewhere east of Malibu.
What are we hoping to find?
Some kind of damn epiphany.
Couldn't we have found it
in the comfort of Kelly's condo?
Billy Joel is an accessible motherfucker.
No one is going anywhere.
You can sweat on a Texas highway.
You can sweat on an Acuna disco floor.
You can find God in your Froot Loops
and most of his kin in mud puddles
from Seymour to Tahlequah.
"Nobody's perfect," Dylan says.
"I could have told you that several miles back," I mumble.
It's all such a miracle.
You bet your sweet ass
we're grateful
to be here.

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