Pardon the cardiac;
arrest me
for speaking too blatantly.
The words I choose to speak
both crimson red and leak.
Can you smell my truth?
I smell ink.

Here's a small gesture,
through the rata-tat
steel pipes and ting-ting
raindrops
bleeding from the sky on my tin can ceiling-
               spread my ashes on a piece of toast,
                                 butter n' honey

Feed it to the lonely,
poor, beaten and homely.
Feed me to the ******.

Fill their hearts and eyes with tears.
Let them repent for oh, these pitiful, wasted years.
Let them rejoice! My embalming fluid blood
preserve their life.
Feed them my Eucharist, my body,
my light.

Small shanty town,
cheap ***** and easy women.

I wonder what the bathrooms look like...
Shall we find out?
For your pleasure or mine?
-I hope their clean; does it really matter...
at this point?

Whats your name again?

How long can one sit in the wind,
before their blown away?
Oh your *****, gusty manners,
so perfectly out of place,
but oh, not quite unusual.

Oh banana peel,
your colors vibrant and fluctuating.
The 3-D spots of speckled brown,
deep and pure,
yellow and sun sprayed,
swaying in the trees,
lackadaisical in manner.

Oh banana peel,
protect you from our bile.

If i could have a peel of my own,
a comfy womb;
yellow and sweet.
I too would sway in the trees
lackadaisical in manner.
The Sunday, sun spray sprawled across,
my green to yellow to brown,
my sour to sweet,
to soft and cream

Oh banana peel,
others discard you hastily
in the banana peel sunset.
But to me,
you are beautiful.

wind blows,
grass grows,
time shows,
these are the things
that I,
know

real page turner
real money earner
feed the kids
pay the bills
keep the wife
happy life?

white picket fence
my two cents,
its picturesque.

salt and pepper
go set the table
say your prayers
make your bed
clean the house
catch the mouse

two car garage
bi-weekly massage
clip your nails
cut your hair
tuck in your shirt
wash off the dirt

the american dream,
simply ins't for me

what if thought was external,
more easily observable?
would we like what we find,
what others rather hide?

you'll never be inside my head,
but imagine if you could.
would you want to look around?
do you think you really should?