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: https://docs.google.com/presentation/d/e/2PACX-1vQHwAebkcxanwS4wBh2M5xRyn85RSx4XiJ26s4ZBRtewkxzlVebapcJhpLGpGGoGNu6YA3awb0qsruJ/pub?start=false&loop=false&delayms=3000