Something inside me
used to be angry;
I gnawed off it.
Something to listen to
on the way to everywhere -
nod with it.
Some pills that
spilt over my bedside
nodding off them.
Every now and then
I don’t hate myself,
but not often.
Flash -
the lightning grumbles.
Crash -
my thoughts crumble.
Something inside me
remembers the toast,
shit,
I'm not with it.
Another stop,
a diversion,
another roadside
*,
the last great, big,
ball of barbed wire.
*attraction.
On the way
to your comfort zone:
*deep sigh* and
streeeetch -
going;
what grew inside you,
found you
missing.
Nah that’s cool,
shrugging lazily
and only half joking.
Several seconds pass,
many long-winded
metaphors, and
eight god damn
whiskey sours later....
Like eating grapes
off the vine. It
tastes less enjoyable,
but overwhelmingly
natural.
Like a coke dealer on
a netflix binge:
three days with no sale,
in love with the 80’s,
pass the ice.
I spent that time
listening
for someone to yell,
“Stop!”
Dispassionately poised
for an assault on
my character
to my back
and everything else
to my face.
Nothing happened,
but dammit beg,
for the question you
already know:
the fleeing happiness,
asking instead
for accomplishment
and society’s benefit.
With black tendrils
she sways,
down her forehead
and brushed back
with toned, olive polish.
Her clothes fall freely
with her legs,
her breasts,
her feet bare
when she can
help it.
Subtly, into back
she fades -
no,
like the backdrop
walks with her.
Now and then?
More like:
all the time,
everywhere,
all at once.
That sounds like
the most British thing
I've heard.
The only thing,
honest,
and you should be
honest.
Tell me how to get
there
and I swear to you,
by sould,
by blood,
by iron,
we leave.
Well, did you find
a bowl or not?
Have you lost your mind?
Your head sloshes
full of soup.
Consider that,
your eye
half eaten by the falcon,
Horus.
Maggots wriggling about
the lens -
have you no shame?
Nothing to see here,
not since I lost my eye,
after all.
What does that even mean?
You cannot have your cake
and have it eaten too.
It takes two to tango,
honey,
and talk is cheap.
So, I speak by the hour,
and pass collection
when the hook penetrates
your soft, upper palate.
Subverting patience
one expectation at a time.
I like to weaponize
existentialism -
it’s my kink.
I don’t even like the music,
I just know you
like me for listening.
What a ball,
a beautiful wedding.
So pulls the oxen
on cart.
Pardon me a moment
while I spiral
out of control here.
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