On a clear day, I envy upon sight of cumulus clouds. Billowing, Drifting, Shifting. Floating to and fro vast landscapes in its glorious white state. A fluff of wondrous properties, perched effortlessly above in Stratospheric realm. I yearn to uproot with thee. To unshackle me from the iron ball and chain on my every limb. To float me above from this maze of a land. To lift me from my dull perspective that exists only in left and right, forward and back. My Sherpa, I beg thee to guide me around jagged alpine rocks, through oceanic stretches, above the skyscrapers in my hometown, towards unseen horizons and magnificent views, so that I may per chance witness the meaning of life. In return, I offer my soul as a gift: to form with the essence of thee. Though I know, my naive and loveless character would only taint your color with amorphous grey. Perhaps one day, I can billow, drift, and shift with thee.

A large red elephant jumped on the trampoline.

Somewhere in the distance a blue eyed babe cried.

Rednecks clad in Paul Bunyan shirts inhaled the fumes of their barbecues.

Moving gracefully, a trapeze dancer tip-toed across the river.

My wife slumbered on our couch,

And wind blew a kite out of my hands.

                                                

I fed a goat nectar from my hands.

A crowd encircled the trampoline.

My family purchased a new couch,

And later that day we helplessly cried.

Our wailing could not be heard across the river,

Where rednecks continued to inhale the fumes of their barbecues.



Neighbors massed to celebrate barbecues.

I looked down at my blood stained hands,

Then joined the beautiful trapeze dancer across the river.

My red elephant broke the trampoline

And we were surrounded by infinite crying.

Nobody sat on the new couch.



Many problems arrived with the new couch;

There weren’t any more barbecues,

And my teeth crunched on granola as we cried.

Silky fabric embraced my hands.

Ingrid, my wife, dies on the trampoline.

She was buried across the river.



Some guy drank all the water from the river,

And started living on our couch.

Who would have thought I met lily on the trampoline,

And who would have thought I took up barbecues.

Now I felt warmth on the back of my hand

And I no longer cried.



Only the winter wind cried,

Howling over Ingrid’s grave across the river.

I slapped an elephant carcass with my hand,

Proceeding to cook it with salt and pepper on the couch.

I bored my wife with barbecues

So she went to jump on they trampoline.



Lily died on the trampoline; I always cried.

No longer did I host barbecues, the wind continued to howl across the river.

I gutted the couch, and killed myself with the back of my hand.

Dear Chaus,

Wishing upon that shooting star
For something more than what you are
Heartbreaking as you send your wish afar
But you'll never be more than simply subpar.

Calling out for a goal, an ambition
Reaching hard to make the distance
Running until you lose your vision
Then crashing when, again, you miss it.

Because all you are is a common entity
With not a single redeeming quality
All you are is a lackluster commodity
Thrown away once something better is seen.

Are you lonely yet, does the feeling invade your soul?
Are you lonely yet, now that you feel so old?
Are you lonely yet and has your optimism run cold?
Are you lonely yet, are you ready to go?

Does it crush you in that way that makes death seem sweet?
Does it rend you in the fashion that forces up what you eat?
Does it poison you like smoke that your lungs forever keep?
Does it drag you like nicotine, controlling your feet?

How do you do now, my dear, and those cuts on your arms?
How do you do now, my dear, with no father to bring you harm?
How do you fare, my dear, when all is at peace and warm?
How do you fare, my dear, with the paranoia, the alarm?

Is it too much or just enough, are you running to the end?
It is too good or too bad, will you shun those helping hands?
Is it too loud or too quiet, is love still in your plans?
Is it to nice or to cruel, now do you understand?

As all you'll ever be, you are ending in this moment
All you wish to see that you've smashed on the pavement.
All the time you had that your decisions use as payment.
All the people who've passed that you wished would have come with.

This is what is waiting for you in a year, a decade, a century
This is what is waiting and this is all you'll ever see
Disappointment by disappointment, never quite depression-free
This is what is waiting: anything but content or happy.

So next you feel the call of some obscure way to die
I bid you take the chance, let not another chance pass by
The next you feel fed up and you can only think to cry
Put down your tears and dance and kiss this cruel world goodbye.

Love,
Chaus