BLUE COLLAR HOLIDAY
Tom Brokaw Tom Brokaw is a beautiful person. By beautiful I mean communicating disease as in the pythgorean theorem swiped at by mud-covered tribes The incident of my subtraction Tom thought. White as Rauschenberg's supposed rudeness Forget that night & your wet socks. Low-flying engines. She'll never happen again. Did he jump, Tom, did he! And it's fall in the Southern Hemispere Of towels, gross raging, the shits again Febrile men -- wept, whacked out: I've got to go big distances... Well-hung & snow-white trash. The furniture was heavy falling also. Is this physics or ambivalence? No matter. Tom remains sequestered, loves them amidst news of child abuse & lake effect snow. His news, a series of vibrations their sadness & visions bring into relief. Beyond toejams, landfills, caviar. The despondent correspondent pushing all those riotous grey sheep into a quiet form of media.