There is a little boy kneeling in a chair playing with a toy tractor.
It keeps falling off the table
(Or he pushes it off)
Then he runs to pick it up and place it back on the table.
There is a diaper on the table.
(Which he also threw on the floor)
A baby has been placed at the table.
When asked the babys name, the little boy says:
"Robo Dog!"
I think that is an awesome name.
I wonder if when that baby grows up he will be emotionally unresponsive.
robotic
Charming player of a Dog
I won't follow these boys around their whole lives but assuming he is.
That little boy is a prophet.
So i'm watching the Prophet and Robo Dog
Throw things off the table and giggle.
Thinking about how simple
Pleasure can be for a child.
How intricate it can be for an adult.
When Prophet commands his Grammy to eat her bagel.
I cannot see them any more
They are sitting behind me in a booth
But I can only imagine she obliged
Or lifted to her mouth and pretended
I like to imagine this is Prophet and Robo Dogs first encounter with false truth.
But it looks like Prophet has a couple years of Holidays on Robo Dog
So that isn't quite true.

Of all the things you've looked at and said
"Wow, that's so beautiful."
How many are still there?
Ten?
Maybe just the ocean?

Picture a playground
Swing set jungle gym
Whatevers on a childrens playground
It's behind your house.
You go there twice a week

There's tutus and there's overalls
And there's little horses with springs on the bottom
That are slightly rusted
But they rock back and fourth and don't fall over anyway
Because they're so far
Dug down into that playground tar
It's just, permenant
It takes three men wearing orange vests to pull it out of the ground.
There are memories there.
Some of them are even caught on video
And you
You can't go there again

She finds the brightest star
Traces it's dotted lines
Grasping constellations yet to be
Longed after,
Naming them.

The Cigarette
Prayed too by the star captain,
Suave, compelling, proud.
Held close by the Escapist.
The comfort of the same circle of pain
with different faces,
friends wherever there's fire.

The Bottle
Held onto tightly when the chips are down
Rocking back and fourth, homeless
Good friend of the shopping cart
Of the Molotov cocktail burning bridges
Of the 2am revelry of loud sticky benches
Orange caution tape bump for consent

The Pacifier
A purse token for the forgotten children
Necklace neon green pink pigtails
The purest form of oral fixation.
Mother of the cigarette
Designed to cut words and part lips
Only comfort to give in return

Finding that balance between what feels good and what you need is harder than picking out an outfit in the morning.
Unless those outfits are all pretty slutty.
Then it's about the same,
the main difference being there's no real good solution.
Just a bad idea,
and a worse idea.
A low cut dress with no bra
Or a ruler width mini skirt over a thong.

I have always been a fan of extremes
so, I guess, between what I want
And what I need.

I'd wear the same outfit every day until it ripped,
got lost
or didn't fit me anymore.

And then I wouldn't wear anything.

Lets have rough ***
in the courtyard of our kingdom
while the peasants and jester watch.

"Is that the king?"
"Yes. Both of them,
****. Did he just hit h~?"
"Yup. That was a moan."
Pan flutes.
Lutes.
purple green and gold garb.
There's a bunch of knights training in archery
and somebody in a far corner of some ocean
plotting to ride their horses here and declare seige.
But right now
it's the first of may
and we're just throwing each other around on the grass
under the flag of our castle
that we founded on voyeurism and being good at what we do
Which today is rough ***
In the grass
Of a game of thrones set.

Look into the mirror and Smile
Greet every customer with a warm Smile
Close your eyes alone and Smile
Think about the war and Smile
Imagine your daughter and smile
Leave your troubles at the door and Smile
Black out, wake up without a mother and Smile
Smile for the camera
Smile
Smile
Smile
Look I know you're depressed but Smile
Maybe you'll be happier if you Smile
I heard you can trick your body's chemicals into thinking you're happy if you just Smile
I didn't say be happy, I said Smile

Smoke a cigarette and Smile
Look your ****** in the toes and Smile
Put your makeup on and Smile
Pour a fresh cup of coffee and Smile
Hold their hand, look at the stars and Smile
Shut the **** up and Smile
Sit at the bottom of your shower and Smile
Empty this bottle and Smile
Lose your lifes fourtune at blackjack and Smile
Take this pill and Smile

Stop Smiling
Why are you still Smiling?
Is that all you can ******* do?
SMILE?
Smile
Like this contortion of flesh is taking a punch
Smile
Because this curvature is a war on hatred
Smile
Like a curse word
Like body armor
Like a paycheck

Smile.

It's a bomb on your doorstep.
Wrapped up in a pastel pink and white blanket.
Swaddled in a babys basket
You don't even hear the ticking over all the babble
You just assumed it was designed to protect.
You never asked anyone
Or questioned where the basket came from.
Where it got this baby.
Why it is concealing it's wicker with this blanket.
You bring it inside.

tickTick tickTick
tickTick tickTick
tickTick tickTick

Wake up tossing and turning
hear a ticking downstairs
In your kitchen.
On the island.
"You're hearing things"
close your eyes.
It's too loud.
Walk down to see just a basket
A blanket
The baby is tucked in tight
You were hearing things
"Go back to bed sweety."
But the basket keeps ticking.
"Baskets are supposed to tick"
you never question it again.

tickTick tickTick
tickTick tickTick
tickTick tickTick

You never see it explode.
Just find and count the pieces
Wicker shrapnel where there should have been guidance.
Viscera where there should have been eyes.