I am filled with words,
floating into phrases, and away again
unfinished yet poignant, with a
meaning
(almost)
slipping through.

the stock market is so wack.
I earned five bucks a share by doing nothing at all.

the option to buy these shares is part of my compensation for working,
but everything above that...wack.

have I mentioned the wack?
I could buy a nice mac with the wack.
I could OD on smack with the wack.
I could get a gold plaque that will hang from a tack with the wack.

I could write silly seussian rhymes,
open bottles of rare dusty wines,
use forks with gaussian tines,
or maybe saving for a while will be fine.

every week I can look at the balance,
gaze amused at my wack-infused total,
sit quietly in my rented palace,
buy things based on reviews anecdotal.

and though I haven't yet had my coffee
the wack dreams and wack words that I'm spewin'
have a calming effect
that I hope will inject
fiscal sanity into whatever I'm doin'
with this wack ass money.

I saw people walking in LA,
policemen and flashing lights by El Capitan
as traffic, crawling, reminded me that my errand had failed,
but I didn't care, for I saw hope
up ahead, a left turn on La Brea
leading inexorably towards the Hollywood Fleeway
which became the Ventura Fleeway
and I forked away to the fleedom of the 405, the 5
climbing up out of the smog
free of lost angeles once more.