Anti-Gloss Log


Damn, I woke up this morning with 70’s bush

Now I’ve gotta do a Harold & Kumar on my pubs

A Sunday of hot french-press coffee and scissor snips

while blasting nautically nuanced, matte-black robot music

I hate shiny objects; pushing their perky image out of self

splattering all and everything with their petty gleamings

They glorify self reflection, the basest of human deceits

Paint it all over with dullest black metal dampening spray

Kick the shiny teeth out of our most renowned culprits

They care not for us and only for our echoing praises

Pop their gold-plated cherries with anti-gloss logs

The plainest wood, the basest weapon we know



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