a cigarette burn
on my thigh
and mascara stains
on my sleeve
-

It’s a 5 day world out there,
followed by a 2 day scare
of baths and walks
and holiday forecast talks.

Planning goodbyes before you’ve left and gone
whilst sitting still on Subway platform one,
with stationary thoughts
like the stationary train,
wiped down and dried
by the city state rain.

It’s a 5 day world out there,
followed by a 2 day scare,
together another
7 day affair.

Skyscrapers and mango trees wearing boxer briefs.

The tantalizing wind blows caressing paperclips and mortuary signs—
turning them indigo red for we all know that dead bodies are nothing but dead.

Hymns of love and soliloquies of the unconscious ego—
Id of our time but men of the past be our hero.
Leaving to wonder, if king Nebuchadnezzar was a crack-feign
would Coca Cola still educate penguins on the importance of Lesbian Existence?

For in this war of life, cockroaches are the real winners,
and the taste of excellence is only reserved for fire extinguishers —

so if nuclear clouds persist,
let the fire burn with love and you lay on the bed of oblivion
cuddling the moral that capitalism leads to schizophrenia.

So insure your sanity for free 99, this, with warm regards from yours truly,

                                                               ­              Rhizome of Golgotha.

The mind of the insane is really not that difficult to understand

It's rather simple

You see, when you eat the blue macaroni while
singing "Modern Major General", you must
remember to Stop.  Hammer time.  If not,
the rhesus monkey will shoot lemon rays
at your hampster with dead lifeless eyes.

Those terrible eyes

If that happens, then your only recourse
is to do the Darkwing Duck and hope
that you don't eat pancakes before
noon.  Also, don't forget the most
important thing of all:
Banana.

Like I said.
Simple.

Now go eat a muffin.
It makes you fly.

I was thinking, this morning
As my cat dragged my bacon off the plate and onto the new tablecloth
As my other cat tried to bury the newly smeared grease stain
As still another measured how far he could nudge a glass off the edge of the counter before it would fall and shatter,
And the first moved on to gnawing happily on the fresh flowers we'd tried to conceal from her,
And the second endeavored to pull the Christmas tree down by the bottom string of lights,
And the third clumsily swished a tail through what remained of my repast
I was thinking:
See, this is why we can't have nice things.

This poem is reserved
for the love of my life
Its lines are only
placeholders
templates
for what is to come

There is no meaning right now
so don't go and search for it
These are cold, emotionless words
ready to be replaced with fire
when the time is right

This stanza will be filled at a later date
This line will be about her laugh
This line will be about the look she gives me (you know the one)
This line will be about the spark in her eyes
This line...mmm...will be none of your **** business.
It's a private moment
It's between her and I
The one with the reservation
to my heart

One day this poem will mean something
One day these lines won't be empty
Someday

But not today