Anton Krueger



i'm driving the highway home
looking at the lights of all of
these cars wondering
how many of them are
going home to sex tonight.

& i think it's actually
probably not that many...

and then i wonder how many
of these cars contain people
planning to kill tonight.

& i think it's actually
probably very few...

so i'm driving on & i'm wondering
how many might be touching themselves
up tonight as they think of somebody else,
and how many will be eating other
flesh up killed for their consumption.

& i think it's actually
probably almost all of them...

but what do i know?
i'm just driving home
alone to my own
fantasy with blood
between my teeth.


for the flamingo whose flock has flown

impossible to refrain from at least a strain
of admiration for the drunkard
quoting yeats aloud to an emptying sky,
raising angry fists at audiences invisible,
demanding acclaim he neither
deserved nor gained,
a belligerent hero of the will
his belly warmed by beer...


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