How?

How DO you exalt the ordinary?  The banal?  The average? The also rans of our lives?
How do you give, to all and everything that gives to you on a daily basis, the moments of immortality their accords?
The roads. Pitted or newly tarmac'ed. The weeds. The power lines and all that the modern forests of life throw up around us?
The sun from  these days of global warming.  These end times in which we mill about, helpless and happy.
The power sub-stations. The discarded and fractured lenticular plastic signs, The wrappers, of course. The crushed and empty and unloved cans. The flowers that the dying and disappearing bees won't even consider touching.

How do we put the wet, juicy pussy, the hard cock and the wiggling arse into the streetlight?
The houses up for sale. The detritus and discard of a billion carelessly manicured lawns. All that has seen its day. All that has been put out for recycling. All that has been put out. The street signs. Even the air, heavy with the smell of burning brakes and honeysuckle.
The crockery left under a tree for purposes beyond imagining or caring.
The vistas of us.
Everything made and all things binary that no one and nothing will know of once we are gone.
The shell of the cicada.

How do we revel in the foolish and the tedium?  Kiss Baudelaire and Rimbaud, Nietzsche and Celine, Bukowski and Strummer, McGowan, Camus and Pollack.  Kiss them gently on the cheek, take your hands off their shoulders, look them in the eye and tell them that
though they weren't wrong, they weren't right either.

Wasteland.