For the first time today, while napping, I felt myself dying.
Not sick dying, just the passage of time, the slow death.
Time in it's truest fashion, slipping, slipping away.
Sometimes we wish it away, and sometimes it just sneaks away.
Sneaks away during a nap and you suddenly wake up and beg for it back.
Winter has stripped us down the the bone,
it has gone on just too long and we are sick of dreaming of warmth and bees and flower buds.
I know it serves its purpose; a reflection to be hopeful for rebirth.

I think I might just be a lot of talk.
A dreamer.
I dream a lot and the reality doesn’t seem as good.
I’m on the third re-heat of my morning coffee
and the third time around it’s really really not as good.
But this time I put the microwave on high and set it for 2 minutes
so maybe it will be so hot it takes off a layer of my tongue.
I hope it does, but I won’t let it.
I can smell the microwave in the coffee which can only mean I’m drinking parts of the microwave.
And maybe the little parts of the microwave will make my dreams come true.
I picture the little microwave atom waves spinning and bouncing---
and taking me on a long journey.

The thousands of cigarette butts are making me wonder
where all the charred lungs are now.
Maybe the same hands
attached to the arms

attached to the ribs
which encase the lungs
are flicking another **** out the window right now--
sparks sizzling and hopping across the concrete.

My heart frowns inside my chest.
But it’s a different sadness then when I see
the headless raccoon
or the dead deer with its head swung way back.

I shudder when I see a styrofoam box
propped up with an untrustworthy smile on its lid.
Like it’s not going to turn to dust anytime soon
but the greasy chinese takeout inside might.

You can also never trust
the side of the road fire hydrant wearing a pink robe.
My sister just broke up with a boy because he threw
a straw out the window.

This one’s for the grass eaters:
the ones who teeter on the edge of
reality. For the ones who are hyper-
aware of their consciousness. It’s for
the ones who jump on the creaky wooden
floor to witness the annoyance of those
around them. It’s for the smile you let go after
someone catches you trying to ignore
them. It’s for the Ibuprofen that tears the lining of my
esophagus. It’s for rushing to get to church
so God knows you aren’t late. It’s for the baby
cactus that you are in denial of over-watering---
It’s for that handful of grass I just want to
throw in my mouth.

It wasn’t even delivery it was a **** pick up. All I wanted was a medium one topping. Just a delicious Papa John’s with a little beef. Well, turns out me and my car were about to have some beef.

My car and pizza have a history together. Long story short my car is the only nonliving and living thing to hate pizza. I was a pizza delivery driver for a few short months and my car loved driving around except when it came to pizzas and delivering them.

Like I said my car is a human or at minimum a living thing of sorts. The tan-*** ******* smelled the pizza as I scooted behind the wheel with my medium one topping. One sniff and three different lights came popping out at me.

The ABS brake light, air bag light, and the battery light. My car is maniacal! Once I got back home my car wouldn’t start and now I need a new battery and alternator. My car’s best friend even tried to give her a jump but she wouldn’t accept the love.

I love you my lovely car but why do you have to hate pizza so much.

Its hilarious when he says it. Then I say the same sentence but the words come out sounding fumbley and dumb. I end up chuckling it off and we laugh about how dumb it was when I said it. So supposedly it's all about the delivery? I guess I'll work at a pizza place then. Oh wait I already did. Unfortunately I had to stop doing that because it wrecked my car. My car said please no more.

It started with the misfiring. I was like okay let’s take you to the shop. So the misfiring stopped and I said all better now right? Little ham and pineapple to this house, how bout a pepperoni over here. Oh and what about some cheezy bread to 455 Barry Street?

A week later I turned the key and the start up was slow and I could hear the murmurs: please no more. I said come on you are my income. Naturally, the tan beast was relentless and finally I took it to the shop again.

And quit my job.
Which I loved.

Now my beastly and tan station wagon is in tip top condition and I'm going to work on my delivery.
My delivery of words and jokes and actions and kindness and all good things.
But not pizzas.
Even though pizza is a very good thing.

I love you my lovely car please take me on more adventures.

rip it out of from underneath the carpet
squeeze it in between the air particles
fling it around the universe with a tiny string
blast it through all the blades of grass
and once you're done with that
put an acorn cap on top of it
the little hat of an oak's baby
then take a picture of it with the disposable camera
that's tucked in your back pocket
put it in the new but old looking photo album
and cry about how young how beautiful how fortunate
and I will slowly turn through the pages with
my future kids who you
who I cannot even imagine yet