i watched the slow death of MTV.
the music palace impaled and heaved
onto a coal-hot pyre of cool kid consumer trash.
pregnant teens, range rover birthday bonnets,
& ***** jungle-sweat challenges.
 
smoke the spirits of stolen leaves.
traverse the cineplex stairs and exits
glowing. mammoth screens,
with their long shadows, long teeth, long
celluloidal gods.
death to this too.
 
set a heap of old chairs and furniture on fire 
in the backyard, hoping neighbors will gather 
to drink and laugh. or at least one of them to yell
and grab you by the collar,
violently whistling.
wait and bleed.