The sun slowly sets and the streetlights turn on while
I sit at the kitchen table, trying to take one step away
From the fire and brimstone storm next door.
Sitting next to me is my father and a saltshaker,
He douses his roast beef with it and digs in ferociously.

Last night while I was standing on my front lawn a man
Wearing blue jeans and a grey sweatshirt approached.
He had a friendly demeanor and dragged on listlessly
Whistling a familiar tune, difficult to place.
Walking right up to me, the mysterious creature put his
Hand on the back of my neck and we began to grapple.
Struggling to keep my strength I was thrown to the ground.
His force couldn’t keep me down for long, I got him under me
And pinned him down for a short minute until he mustered
All his strength to push me off and we were on our feet again.
Eight hours passed and one had not overtaken the other
Until with a slight twist he popped my right leg out of place.
I said thank you and proceeded to sit on my front lawn,
Injured by myself.

Sometimes all it takes is a change of light
To question your identity.
And if hollowed hammers could be held,
I’d certainly make a better me.

Ominous notes are spewed from the *****,
Shaking the chandelier.
“It’s a syndrome he suffers from, one of being half-reared.”
The monotonous metronome ticks at allegro
While the all too sure foot taps andante.

Entrancing sweet air surrounds that ever-thinning hair
While I chew on half of a pear.
Wear and tear quickly begins to take place
While I erase the ink on my page to make space.
To make space for answers to these overwhelming questions.
I’ve never been much of a winner in this race.
And I’ve heard pace is the key,
But I have no such interest in locks.

Oh yes I’ve got golden goals,
But not the type of gold the count uses for bitter revenge,
Gold more likened to The Idiot’s investments.

Thetis by what mind did you dip only my fingers?
At sunrise my left side malingers.

Hello Mr. and Mrs. Jones I’m a sales representative from corporate united
Can I interested you in a genuine grin this evening.
Oh…that’s fine, I get paid just to ask.
But regardless, I could really use some conversation at the moment.
Would you mind ministering me with melodies?

I scrape the insole of a misfit pair…
Staring and staring at the ground waiting for it to shake.
Trembles are a sort of comforting contagion.

Oh it’s long been cold enough to build fires,
But I’ve only just collected the wood,
And I see no value in conversing alone outside,
Splitting the options with a razor, the sheets are more comfortable.
Lonely days bring still shivers multiplying,
My skin’s grown thin, all my warmth radiates out.
Oh I should have been a pair of scuttling claws…
The salt water is purely a majority,
My spirit is displaced into phytoplankton riding waves.
There there are no graves,
No cremation or consolation.
Just rest.

My I’m tired, I’ve toiled and tilled till morning
And still haven’t seen sprouts.
The bull in my chest shouts and I’ll I want
Is to wring it’s neck.
I’m tired of walking amongst bloodsuckers and
Angry hordes of minotaur’s.
I’m tired of constantly treading over manmade floors,
And walking down the hall
Only to find my destination…a steel locked door,
Then having to implore upon the janitor.
I’m tired of dancing all the time,
Just let me stand in silence.

When I bite you you’ll have a crooked cut.
When I digest food it’s crooked.
Even my limbs are on crooked
In my crooked joints.
My fingers are crooked
And so are my toes.
My skin is stretches
My Tongue is twisted
And my lungs are lopsided.