It's mine, or at least I think so.
I was the first to mix the mix.
Some think the mix too soft,
Way to sweet.

The first is sweet from high up.
Second is the sweetest of the hard.
It might need a third mix.
Or at least I think so.

It has a bite, as most do.
But somehow it works.
Some are intrigued.
Or at least I think so.

No name for it yet.
All tries too low.
Or not "just right".
That's all I know.

Try one sip, let the mix in.
Let it go down slow.
Does it need one more mix?
I'll bet you think so.

Take a look into the chasm,
wake,
a spasm,
stretch and it will go,
but we know
there is a void

build a bridge
cross into the kitchen
raid the fridge
make your own way back to
where it started from,
stuff your face
pull back the curtains,
Irish lace
see
a brick wall
no chasm
nothing
there at all
except for
bricks.

How the dreams we play with play their
tricks is sick, sick as in weird, we
climb the ladders anyway until the snake
appears
and then we slide.

But I dream of you
constantly
honestly
I do

and who is this monstrosity to
claim your heart?
the beauty and
impossibility
the beast
unfortunately,
the dream
you think unlikely,
but it is the
truth,

Look to the gloom,
yielding no depth of distance,
only pinpoints of light
blaring the selfish madness of man
and beast alike.
Look to oval eyed Saturn, and
notice not the opalescent crenulation
of teeth, or
the rigid celestial body
inflated and bloated-
floating in the absence of fettered air;
all that is important
is the lifeless bodies
cannibalized and
invariably stuck in an endless orbit
of the greedy giant.

I am quiet in front of the ambient lights.
Confronted among these Ambien nights,
with alluvial life, a hot bed of technical idolatry-
It is hard in the valley of the sun
the people who over-extend
self, carry impotence and
a loaded gun-
The land of geriatrics filled with frolicking snowbirds
who cast out their alcoholic offspring
to grind under gears of the economic machine.
Modern man is genuflecting in the sanctimonious pantheon of self.