fergie carries her notes
around in flaccid plastic bags
and our eyes
at the bottom of the ocean
get eaten
by limp worms
turn on their phantom
lights and list after the faltering
leads farther willing electric bodies
everybody leaves
of good chance
it’s what gets taken then
here’s an ode to the black eyed peas:
get off stage
banter
when you’re backed
into the future
and thousands of microphone-looking
people question why
your songs burn into our fizz-addled
minds on the dance
floor. breaking palace gates
and plates, a three-cheer
chandelier gets placed atop the stadium
and the lights wink
like beats upon the shoreline
thumping the whales
and lesser crustaceans into the original
refrain of “let’s get it started”
because class
and ass rhyme, bitches.
pop the mazel tov
and take off your t-top
to let the boom boom buzz in
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