While in a fit of cabin fever, where boredom becomes a playful plank to do front flips into water

Boredom, an omnipresent easy button, a surrender, go ahead, you are tired of feeling fit and timing ironic, prompting an acknowledgement is manipulative

Go ahead and choke on the chalky foggy chlorine chronic tonic. Jump. Go ahead and press away your luck

Unreal conspiracies detach and reatach around the pinched fingers for woven daily routine.

always coffee, but also no lights, no fire

How can one love it because it’s key is flat? It’s procrastinated? The walls are so white.

Boredom doing tricks with planks, underneath a sunny waterfall.

Jump, press.

angelic rain sniffles insane

dought, no more oof and stiff legs

ek, the moonography

hurdling in spires


ranging and roving

of course, but yes

franticlackld fruit fenzu or lor llifted,
lamenanyed, lettered


sweet, sweet nectar, pumbs, and grapes night

horses and trains

HRMMM ROOF

weep me weep me

rationed out the last of my cash

for cigarettes and ICE CREAM

fully aware that

sleeping more and more

as the daylights go on

the forces are so tempting

with the split ends in my own mind

wishing to have answers that

turn and ***** out truffles, binding

my own egotistical lot to a mirror that suffers phrases

the echoes and to do lists never made it

maybe if a pinkie was slipped inside it's eyelid

it would make sense to some disco jockey,

sit back and smoke a cigar at the end of quarantine

twenties slowly passing

time to understand that the days mostly pass the same

and sure, sure SURE that is okay

and healing as ice cream

If only I could play

in cigarette dish cans and flick wands

somewhere in this brain stew there may be a purpose to latch onto

but for now, the days are divided by cups of coffee

laying eggs in the bed and more on the kitchen table

hatching comedic comic strips that fall on dim laughter

A few frames a second

Chocolate chip cookies

search history

launched upon a cloud request, yes;  sure and assured

invested in the luxuryworth highway

as the cable tv is humming it's extremities

whichhavent's that dance for freedom

grabbing cloud,

idiot chance that revolts of unmistaken reverence

held at the polls for a nighttime of disco dance

just to find out the news at the local bar

interrupted and disinterested

-----
a painter holds his thumb up to the chin

beause dimples are so pretty

the lips say however they smile

and the smile lies, eyebrows lie

the lines are between untruth

as a polite girlfriend lies about intentions.

Ah she is frosty as mints,

tough as rubber, a bath

Sean Patrick Armstrong Mar 27
TITLE

Self banished down crusty cave

reaching for the undenyable

Bridged hoping as a wounded defender,

The left arm naked, convexd

while the right is sunken casually,

eventually, patiently falling apart

haven't the strength of mind to argue otherwise

the lighted buddhist mask reveals itself, solidarity, or double false

only mindful as a shipwrecked beach ***

a stick in the sand and thankful for fruit flies

perhaps the ultimate bite has been taken, and for the use of stapled source it rejuvinates gradually, crystal liquid, gumball machine

like its underbelly is welcome, alwalys flipping like a lightswitch for kicks

a hot *** of water

or flix in a camera

perminantly borded to the take-out reason quiz

or constantly switching between dinner, lunch, and breakfast

anyways, misunderstood

as a leafing nightstand bible

YeH it does
Did,
hit,
miss
couldv lovd u so much it made me sick

and that's a punk rocker's shoelace melody

for a mohawk or mullet

raised to the perfect level that is tanked

borrowed from so many jokes on cable

how could so many jokes seed a new adaptation

pinching the dirt to figure out who borrowed from what


an idea as a copywrite?  it's filed under status M and P

the fruit flies busy with artifiial jelly, smacking their leather teeth
growing exponetially

the punk rock idiots are not idiots

the west end girls

save your quill, and a heartache and another silly beat


meme after meme after meme

the font has been specified, the origin, where did it begin?

but the ******* will forever give in

to laminous, oh holy dreadful hell, it's under the crease of the carpet and refrigertor!

it's slammed in the fireplace

envalopes

_stairwells

Beer and wine

***** and ***

tequila round the bend

don't plan on hurting anyone

the streets looking for the boots, the feet

hey your face!  angel of gothic trance of the evening, where you headed?

do a disco two way and then blow a kiss to the lamp post

thirsty as can be, a few twenties at the side

chewing cinnamon gum, wals-a-do a top the cobblestone end of march

seeded in ***** **** tight-witted noisy blasphemous youth

edited two times so professor lets a quick C, won't argue the bill

the congressman, green stamp

switch to the left, with a marker pen

tag the newstand, Who made who?  check it,

chuck an empty bottle down the alleyway

ha-ha!  OH alive is this mind!  Lifted to the stars!  

wrap arms around the holsterd moon, from huntington beach up to long beach, through downtown where the staring eyes meet the hemp

roam and reel and Holy!  you have NECTAR!

beer and wine,

***** and ***

a drop of tequila

couldn't hurt anyone

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?

The ranch house estate is evenly spaced,

there are different rooms for different stuff; a living area that has been

brassled with the finest chimney money can afford. the stukko finish and electricity designed for bliss comfort; it  IT is a wonderful venture at Christmas time.

the guitar rests in the family room where there is a proper leather sofa for the purpose of movie time, basketball games and late night k-pop specials, perhaps the royal kardashian family now and again


there is a computer room- called "the lab" as I was growing up, my mother never really understood that I called it that, seeing as how her main laboratory was at work as a scientist

the computer room is littered yet organized with scientific alogrithms and molecule designs.  

all of the other rooms are associated with sleep and comfort, minus the tiny work out space which is mostly reserved for treadmill and the occasional lifts

a ranch house in "relaxo' fashion

I catch onto my own leather and let it dissipate the tears, the ltters, the outside cold, the inside warm

could it be the stickiness of germs?  how they interact...

the leather is very intact, with a collar and a zipper at the front pocket

its still at the arms and then open at the collar-for my own choosing whether it be a tight or a loose collar today.

in the back there are buttons jus to pamper up if the occation- persists

with a collared shirt it suits quite well, the informal formal format of california dress makers

how should I dress for a pool party?  that's always the los angeles way

weighed in by heavenfelt likening bougios to the anthropomorgical outlaws

could it be dexterous fingers?  just cold horseshoes on a hym of time

without a doubt, the effectively noted numbers, only so many to buy or catch

perhaps yarn that won't stick with duct-tape?   maybe a giant thimble for yarnsales that edge out vooddoo

where do their mezmorized scripts, jaunting through lucid dreaming for hours only to find taste for sugary cereals

loved in an elevator?  try smooth jazz