Lust, IV

by: Mark Cugini

after Aubrey Graham

Dust off the champagne
and dress the rappers up like
lion tamers: we’ve got to all-
star weekend the women
that are waking up
to our falsettos on their
phones. Homies are
So Far Gone
off the lights in these
three different
cities which are
forever converging into
this seismic excess,
an ambient landscape
manifested in all the raining
dollar bills and jewelry
that none of us can afford—
this is everything we’re
going to have to work for.
This is the poem for every
unlocked door in America.
This is the cigarette burn
in a rented Rolls Royce
that we’ll never
be able to explain
to our mother. This is
The Calm, so rise
up from your wheelchair,
young money—rise up from
that wheelchair and
let’s headbutt some
basketball players.