[a slice of gregory’s lot]
motivational mumbo-jumbo spills from gregory’s lips
alongside crumbs of crust and a sliver of melted
mozzarella. his truths curl around the calculus of
car-sales pitches; the slogans of sparkplugs, words
with meanings as malleable as the elasticity of his
chewing cheeks’ skin. what wonders a new life as
a self-identified convertible-owner can bring —
the wind, sweet as pineapple, is irresistable,
coos softer than even this dough, gregory
maintains, his slick words weaving an oily
patch on the paper napkin as he slides
off his seat, racing to sell gooey hot dreams.
image trail:
kwassakwassa