The snap-crackle-pop of the Medi-Cali T.H.C.
left me wheezing.
Then dragons and cerebral effigies
come at me with their teasing.

It’s pleasing to say the least,
I’m the man from which came the beast.
Rocking and trolling the northern hemisphere
peeping for a mortal feast.

And peeking through the one sided mirror
was a man who we would never know.
The time that we all lost it
would be the only time that he would ever show.
And you and I.
Well for you and I, it’s safe to say
that the terms are all we know.

A pedigree of me to me
and synonyms for charity.
What a tragic spell I’m barfing on,
next time I'll try the cherry tree.

A sinking ship at the innards of deep space.
That’s me.
An invisible speck on the tip of your eyes.
Radiating simplistic waves that change your mind.
Abruptly, I see an ambiguous image
of a godlike figure tickling at the back of my skull.
I find it hard to believe its lies.
Hull damage imminent.
But nonetheless. I follow.
As if compelled by some off worldly magic.
Then I ask myself as I hardly swallow,
“How do you know the nature of galaxy?”
and I suddenly remember.
Trial and error.

Stardate whatever.
The Klingons are attacking and my tricorder isn’t functioning.
Conjectural and anointing the furrows of my phaser blasted brow.  
There you are.
A messy image in the transporter beam.
Gleaming and swaying amongst the particles of dust.
“I’m impossible to save,” I say.
“So save yourself, this planet is about to blow.” I say again.
It seems our universal translator isn’t working.
Otherwise, you would have left me.
Trusting is the hardest part.
I’ll do without it.  
Beam me up Scotty.

A tiny dancer twiddles across my usually blank mind.
I’m defined by the choices I make.
Commercials are killing me.
I wish they were ads for cigarettes.
Maybe then it would make more sense.

Sensibly, I call you out from under the ground.
Just to see you dancing.
It had been a while.
And I feel my foot tap-tapping to the sound
of your body gliding all around me.

Magically inclined.
I'm defined by the choices that I make.

My phone is about to die.
But to manipulate the future
I still must try.
Tweeting a word
for a fellow blue jay.
Swimming **** out,
in the dark of the bay.
Stark naked, star struck and totally faded.
It’s needless to say that I hate it.
Jaded
by moms and preteens with their qualms.
I still feel my growth spurt was belated.
Tomorrow the sun will set in the south.
And the days will forever be jolly.
The clouds they drip acid,
The earth grows us ****.
And our country’s providing the molly.

Our making love was keyboard strokes.
An oscillating UFO.
Flying across dimensions.
I found you titillating.
Late nights debating.
Finding rhyme from reason
but still abating.
I forgot your face like I forgot my password.
123456. Or was it 654321.
Wait maybe you were binary,
sometimes I like that.
011010010110110101101001011100110111001101111001011011110111010­1.
Well anyways,
I’ve experienced better days.
Clicking buttons. Surfing webs.
Google maps from A to B.
But never once would I have guessed
that this is where I'd be.

Energy, obedience, sociability with others.
The molding of man.
Who came first man or mothers?
Impossible it seems, to be next to our brothers.
Like we’re made in a tube by the chemist Carothers.

Through my own scrutiny our leaders slide effortlessly by.
Chevron. Monopoly . Then multiply.
Micky D’s. Big Mac with cheese.
OH and a large order of fries.
I’ll take a viral video over surprise or goodbyes.