Power
and the desire to be a good person
and how they flirt with one another
in a house surrounded by a cylinder
it is blue
and it has an echo echo echo
and boy does it want to scream
love love love
possessed by the elderly and the ******
possessed by blessed and doomed
it
this flirtation
is delicious

I sit here
and try to figure out
what the next thing I am going to say is
i don’t know if it is the history
or I don’t know if its the signs from the roosevelts
being who they were
making decisions
and I don’t know where all this capitalist conundrum comes from
but I’m obsessed with beauty
and the way it works
I like to study it
and understand my figures
and understand my neighbors
and I am emotionally drained from work
but I am compelled
to continue doing what I do
and there will be things
that come and go
and make measures clear
and work in tandem with the fixtures overhead
and recite lines with the best who were out on a wing
and make love to circus freaks visiting their own visions
and liking the way leo works between films
and destroying art when it is ironic to do so
oh jeeze the way these things work
and they

are

just

broke

and

happy

but had very few metaphors for it
I lost all analogies ten years ago
when I
lost my innocence when
the naive rose colored glasses vanished
the minute

she walked in with that swaying
gait, the all knowing confidence
of a thing on a mission
hardly hiding the sly
demeanor
nor ever meaning to

then she was all
all I saw day or night, I sold my front
door for twenty minutes
with her smile in my lap and her hand in
my pocket picking the lock

I knew what she was meaning
to do, gave a wide corridor
for her to walk through
her street cred  made
me stealthy from myself.

In all I cannot complain, I laid myself
vulnerable, wide assed open for
the viper to slither
around my culpabilities.
Wherein lies the moral.

Keep your metaphors
close as your tool
in your pocket safe
and your similes
hid.

More better yet, hide
in naivette your jewels.

to the world's woes elude me
from down here spinning around
trying to make sense
while making cents into a dollar

or writhing lonely
while  a billion stars
glow in the sky
and the pizzeria
right next door

I find the neon distracting
the clown delivery cars
delivering to the hungry
while I starve
right under the glow
ironic

until I noticed the old woman
at the washeteria,
watching
the washer spin to a stop
slowly with her walker

stoop down in pain,  
unload her knitting of booties ,
with a faint beauty
a smile on her wrinkled
eyes and lips

There's a weird door
on a hill
near my house
Beyond the door is just
more hill
What are you for
weird door?