| |
I want someone to invent
a coffee table book that
rapidly deteriorates and
transforms itself into something else,
so that the owner of
the $85 book on America’s Cowboys –
with silver gelatin prints of classically
rugged white guys in impractical-yet-hopelessly
traditional cowboy hats – will awaken one morning to
find the book transformed into
an authentic pile of horseshit sitting
on his artsy coffee table, with the track lights
repositioned to illuminate the
pile like it’s the star of the rodeo
Michael Philips
Read poems about / on: america, silver, star
|
|
User Rating: |
|
6.8
/10
(15 votes) |
|
|
|
E-mail this poem to e friend