Vending Machines Kevin

I mean, who knows what you’ll get from these crazy machines when you punch in a dollar and dream:

a poem, perhaps, spit from a slot with lines that rhyme, more often than not,

or snippet of sonnet or perhaps haiku, a cinquain falling on a couplet or two

an experiment in prose disguised as verse that’ll scratch your head as it digs through your purse

Or maybe it’s art - what it is that drops from a companion contraption down a few blocks:

a sculpture to fit in the palm of your hand or a paper clip, bent, in the shape of a fan

a sketching of ink on a discarded shirt or a Warhol print all scuffed up with dirt

colored blotches stamped on ancestry cards where signatures fade like ghosts in the yard

Yes, cigarettes once tumbled down for a couple of bucks - now there’s a surprise, inside, if you can get it unstuck

Available here, too: