An American In Madison

Fat motorcycles,

trendy folk

and hangers on,

people pretending

they know what

the hell they’re

doing and making

laws between

tequila shots,

getting married,

getting buried,

kicking sand a

long way from

the beach

and no art,

no God damn

art, unless

you think its

therapeutic and

then we’re all

artists. I hear

thunder in the

air. It could

be a storm,

one of those

interruptive downpours,

or it could

be Armageddon.

You know, reality

come to crash

the party.