who would have thought that

summer

besides chardonnay

also included melancholy

that even the sparrows

wouldn’t dare looking back

during the month of july

when there’s a void blowing

through right-wing exhaust fumes

& yes: antonin artaud is still dead

& yes: will alexander is still self-isolating

& yes: i am still

feverishly

searching for athens

in down-town los angeles

without knowing it

longing for grilled meat

in one of the few vegan taverns

with outdoor seating

passing time

rereading ts eliot’s waste land

even though i know

he’d vote for x

while i’d vote for y

it’s summer in california

his waste land’s telling me

here

the sun gets drunk on gas