She's my little Philly girl,
Cambodian shirts and hindu
sings. Purple nail polish and summer
hats. I can hear her voice when
rain falls on new shingles.
The way she squeezed my hand
the morning after; my heart and
brain switched spots while
standing in some parking lot.

I can inhabit white
walls. I've survived  
crackers and loss before.
What is stopping me now?
The world is a white wall.
Minds are white walls.
Potential are all white walls.
We're all white walls,
well at least at first anyway.
Add the dark colors first
or the accents won't show.
Meaning's lost in this piece.

If it wasn't King James who said, "I'm going
To fiddle with the word of God for a bit",
Then
I don't know who did. Burning bushes
Or not I think he made some **** up

Just how Abraham almost offed Isaac.
It's a good thing the creator has a sense of
Humor because
Father’s all over would raise their arms
To the sky and sacrifice away their sons and only God knows who else.

The king was relentless, He didn’t mind
I could only bite my tongue when I wrote
Jonah was spit
To shore from the whale.  The king just wouldn’t let
Me end it there.  

I cringed when Mary birthed
The king of the world as a
******.
It was hard for me not to laugh
Especially the part about forbidden fruit.

I even made up a story about
Rationalizing with wild
Lions
In a den but as long as you
Looked up you lived on.

One night I found an unlabeled scroll
That said he would come when heaven’s the heart
And earth’s
the body and the bones.
James burnt it that night while he drank his tea.

I don't remember much,
About what I've read,
The aliens who harvest our cattle
And the red pox the Aztecs got.
All I know is that you
Can't pull a string around me
And tie my robs because
I'm of the world and the
World is of me.

I'll remember the gentle things I want
like the drunk and
High howling or
Like the astronaut who came
From mars and was convinced
This was Venus and   
You threw the underwear
And Khaki shorts through the window,
On my roof.

I told you I'd always be here even
If you threw me inside out
The window. Wild dogs are no longer
Starving thanks to you. My underwear and
Khakis are being worn by the homeless.
My dishes and cups are shattered from
the fall. the cable still
Works miraculously, the Browns
Lost by 7 unfortunately.
I'm sopping up my bottle of
Bourbon from 1953 with a dish rag.
Maybe I could get some sleep on my bed
If I wait long enough.

I'll act like I know things,
But the drizzle of sounds will
Be an old man's stroke.
You'll think less of me.
You'll think I got lost in the rain
Somewhere. You'll think I evaporated
With the river. You'll think I evaporated up,
Blowing cloud rings that the
Birds showed me how to do. I just got
Lost finding you and found another
Way around.

Religion is genre essentially,
they're just boxes. Filled
to maximum capacity with sardines.
You think about this
more often then not. Just
like suicide. Not in the style
that the depressed might, your mother
almost hung herself with the hose.
You can only see the
sun's glimmer on the red oak trees
outside the windowless pane.

I'm like a dog
                        You could bash me, beat me, and cleat
                 I'll come back for more. There's no sense in arguing.
Just put me back in my cage.

I'm too simple
                         I'll bite the hands that feed me until there's
                 No more room on his arc. I could use a swim anyway.
Don't tell me what I'm getting into.

Think me stupid.
                          Fall for your tricks that bewilder and trips
                 that make me fall but foundation needs to be invincible.
I'll learn to build on a speckle of light.

Please count me out.
                           There's no sense in dying over others beliefs
                   especially since I'm in stuck inside this cloud in hell chatting
with Hades. What's left for me now?

Don't remember.
                            It won't help when I'm on that marble ledge
                    that's where you once stood. Don't count on me when
you're east not west and I'm all you got     left.

Being stuck between two clouds is nothing
like a mosquito being stuck from a flexing arm
but
both are more advantageous than having
the mark of brother Cain.  That's just the truth.

If it wasn't King James who said, "I'm going
to fiddle with the word of God for a bit",
then
I don't know who did. Burning bushes
or not I think he made some **** up

just how Abraham almost offed Isaac.
It's a good thing the creator has a sense of
humor
because if it didn't, what's left of these words,
wouldn't matter to me at all and the fun times

would be scarce. Keep the arms not flexed
and the clouds apart and the world might not get
stuck
to itself like plastic wrap does when wind
blows itself through the plastic.