bolted to an ambiguous young adult medicine complexion

siamese small in the morning, and quadruple sugar coated in the evening

the days leak from socked feet and puddles of drool

the evenings rumble a trip of electrocuted drowsy dread

New York was long ago now, Los Angeles is the bed

and this shiny prescription complexion will surely be the next rest

alarm the drooping trees

alarm the hum of cable tv

alarm the honking in the streets

alarm the errands incomplete

the two in the morning

and the five before sleep

this young adult medication complexion

only the evening rescues itself,

the mirror

the hand drum

frozen center

man, I go into a studio

usb microphone, apple laptop, electric guitar, rhthm machine

charging cord and energy drink

fuss over the equipment, left in two arms

my room is room six today, boy, I have forever to sing

I sing alternative rock, rock songs, traditional songs

it feels very good, I even call my mother

what's you favorite song?

I wish I was billy joe, yeah because he plays so well

but I am a spearhead, I am a gypsy, I am nintendo
I am Nick caves' son

I am Bob Dylan's son

I am a crooner that writes the lyrics, I am a prince with the oozing blue ropes

I write a song, like this..

rotation and rhthym, call command

and let's float through the broadband.

wakened to harsh stereos,

gloating and gushing, the current still hits the silence long after the house songs have ended

this one will between your knuckles,

and sooth, you have an aching finger

now it is moosed with jello

have you found your raspberry center?

now JOLT

You are a dream

catcher

and be the scenic

oozing faster,

and olympic athletes

will note your

Center,

now where''s your head at?  Salamander

The honest heir of crush

I’m a field, feelings so bad left behind

The spark in an honesty giving circle, United by smiles and pre arranged circumstance, hard wood and lavender

Outdoor showers

Can you make this perfect coin fall into a basket of eggs, signaling a dance that sparks fantasy urban jumping

Older gentries smell the fresh cotton and almost remember, like a cartridge open their mtv sobbing hearts, orange soda, each other by example the current generation

Can you dance like this, nectar in your eyes? Yeah I can shake like that

There was no need for a whisper, only clinging bodies

Bouncing in a stronghold, it’s a beautiful day

And my heart knows trust

You know of acceptance? Maybe cold truce?

I do, too

I've listened to different gurus sattelite their messages from brooding

tax-paying entities

and maybe swallowed enough for my own labyrinth

to let mosquitos and even leeches have their own have at it

there have been enough essays' published in my college days to keep me occupied, though I was high I managed to write a couple more (essays) to **** up against em

(if I haven't proven a point already)

throw a sucker punch across the blue stream ralleys' and then an abusurdist crusade will hatch itself on proletariat jargon for mind game dummies

any point to get sicker?

cause with another delving pincher you'll find yourself in a new clincher that sets up moral envies that sip acid juice and grab ivy's for escapist hijabs and lickedey split you'll think "best of luck" to the nonprofet outlets trying to bring awareness to trashcan lids that could be waddled in an out of brewery suds for clinking pennies, shaken up by a weary sister coffee can tips that are end up swallowed by the family ford and hi cee sips, count the frays:

and portraits of drawn meals seals the deals

and yolking enough eggs for developing teenagers

and whisking ***** manifestations

and ode to band posters by third party members

and shine a light on rescue missions

play clue guessing who posted that one, could it be the unexpected or the obvious?

the former ******* your cheeks with marlmalade,

the latter maybe a pictograph to save

yeah, I'd look it over again,

I wish for a paint brush to search for that hidden gem of maroon 7

and I swear they don't make a mustard with gas station cherry sour

of course, I'll blow a poison dart through the numbers dialed for lionesque mantels that spit ice y hot all over the resurfacing faces from burlesque challenges dated two weeks back,

now got to remember

was that where I was at?

fancy all that comes through

ordered dinner and video games

sober now, sober and sane

the beach is just about a mile away

an acting class in the morning

a positive and wonderful relationship with the mother

and this does not read like "fitter, happier"

no, think of bobs voice when he's zany and speedy

haven't read a novel in over a year

and proud of it, too.  sort of say

gave up reading.  I don't like reading.

read to much in college.  Forgot where the story ended and period started

and I whisk up the avenue, boulevard of Lincolin, Los Angeles

just to score a smoke at the seven eleven

scents and smells and cockroaches

the hobos silent friends on bus seats

cigarettes, died soda and frozen pizzas

the steady beat of a single boy/man with plenty of male prospects

seeking a female companion for a smiling portrait

standing still in a house made of ice, sliding to the freeway

only holds up for a month or two, probably

and when will I finally break my lone life in?

wherever I am, and whenever I wake up to hot coffee

which has, already been finessed

the night blending into 4:00 am blending to afternoon

dessert before dinner, breakfast all night

I promise that you have the voice of a flute, and always will

you made me come with you to paint (and I resented it)

you have a nimble face and a skinny body

you wash your hair every day and you smell good

I wish I could have stayed forever

(I told a lie)

I wish that we could speak again, on the phone

you missed a call, I missed a call

I love'd you, and you were "present" for me

and the TV clicked episodes of dressed nineties flooding adults trapped in codependency together (and we laughed as elderly saints at a rare ****)

I wish I wasn't drunk (I was so drunk)

love, miss me away

any more left in you?

I challenge you to this spectrum, how many cogs on this wheel?

count centipedes and one salamander

and left of your heart's desire

are you a pheasant already?  dropping eggs for a shallow carpeted entryway?

I think that you know how to wiggle your way around the center of a star, enough that you can juggle teeny worms in your goggles

you swam upstream for so many years... isn't it time for a waterfall?

I challenge your sentiment!  do you have another lie?

hard as a flaming roller coaster, and also too slick to bump your cranium

I think that you are a spigot, unleashing tarnished coins into a sea of bronzed eyelid fantasies, only to be shown the same clashed visions, your empathy may run out, silly lad with bananas hanging out of your left nostril

attempt another gain?  you might be fit for a wall of tether ball, bounce back again with the same imprints on your hands, dirt and sweat ready for the kitchen sink

cast a flamingo as a spider and you'll be left with a dylenesque baroque masquerade

shall we dance to our own knobs?  or how saintly and thin our legs have become

close the door to your own franchise bargain kiss

and have you found your sweet molasses?