from by Lee Foust

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Political air conditioning for the masses in New York City.


NYC AC or,

(for M. T. and E. M.)

Vertical squeeze and the refuse blows, gets blown black again. Silenced humming appliances remind Saturday of some lost solitude. Instead, we go out, again; talking and reading, reading and talking. They write more words about fucking than fucking words. Plus the deranged barbarism of even your best friend to protect the pack when you refuse to buckle under.

Let revered teenage-years and words about fucking delude them into thinking that sex and drugs and rock ‘n’ roll are cooler than copyright: outside of style, a waste of time’s only a waste of time. There’s no arguing with content when the tabula razza is being raised like a fucking flag, forked in the ass, flipped over the flame, and gagged again; any waste of time’s still only a waste of time. More words about fucking instead of doing it.

You buy Charles Atlas a drink; pilfering masculinity, he sits at your table and HE WON’T EVER GO AWAY!

—you’ll never be able to lift him.

But, hey, this is America, where even pretend (fill in the blank)s buy it because it smells like Vogue or it molds like plastic. They hang it on their multi-cultural holiday tree, trash it out onto the sidewalk when they’re done, and set it on fire after New Year’s day. And it’s always fucking New Year’s Day in New York fucking City, always a party on Saturday night, when McSorley's meets the Life Café, and the people who pretend to see honesty in politics laugh common sense out of you with cocktail conversation and baseball bats in the Battery. They take out our uncertainty, our hes-hesitation, lay it on the table and eat—relishing the exalted moment of howling with the hyenas over the sensitive and subtle kill.

What do you know, Wolfen had it right.

Then they go home alone and write articles (about fucking) while you jerk off in the bathroom.

The freedom of elevators and AC is enough for this NYC fourth estate CIA shadow FBI. Sly sly sly. I read it on the way to work. I'm on my way, Goodbye.



from Sputnik, released March 11, 2016


all rights reserved



Lee Foust Florence, Italy

Lee Foust is an author and performer from Oakland, California who has lived in Florence, Italy since the mid-1990s. He teaches for various US universities abroad and is the father of one. Lee is the author of Sojourner, a collection of short stories and poems about the mystery of place, and Poison and Antidote, 9 Bohemian tales of San Francisco during the Reagan era. ... more

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