Party Time

Here's a little piece I'm calling "Party Time." This one goes out to all muted members of binary oppositions. It rhymes with nothing so much as itself. It is the sublime object of anger management. I rejects its own author function.

Party Time

It is a blank gecko stare,
An afternoon of Necco wafers and too much tea.
Please flash and flesh me out.
I am an outmoded machine
Egregiously decked to serve your meals,
Repair your streets, move your movies
To the basement where more lives than one
Go on like lights about to burn.
I am a flickering bulb.
I am the bass guitar a week behind its beat.
I am a latte. I'm always frayed,
A woolen blanket tossed across a couch at dawn.