I haven't the energy anymore.
The pangs of gentle zest tricked me out of my boxers,
and left my only brain,
grinding against tight denim.

Without a calling card,
the mulch fell down like French Rain.
We were buried in its
turbid gyrations.

The sky was bright, but we could not see it.
Like a lemon,
Like a waffle,
Like a sack of potatoes,
I unhinged my door and
challenged my reality with a rotting submarine.

Now my eardrums are all of a sudden flooded with the lingering noise of
every curse I've ever heard,
but I find myself only mildly offended.

Checkmate!
Touchdown!
Presto!
You sunk my battleship!

Lust lust lust lust lust
Lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
Oh, ******* it, lust

With providence, I spin
the turbid gears of a certain Olivia Robson. I hear
the whispers of a secret automobile. I
wreck those around me.
I wreck them all, Paul.

I ate a conquistador
I ate a holiday
I ate an afterthought
I ate a bagel
Gosh, what a breakfast it's been

At the phresh gates of the Redwood Dreadnaught Blog,
I screamed! I dug a tunnel to
your murderous lips!
Everyone's swimming, but you and I are the Sunburnt Bourgeoisie,
so we'll resign to simply dancing
in my groovy groovy grave.

This is a weird weird world.
In draping the deepest of thrones, we find
the dimple of a newborn waterfall.
This is a weird weird world.

Flying endlessly like a crosstown log,
The modern mermen tip their tails and
flip their flails and
sip their sails in
this stillborn magical world.

I sit here, implying.
I waste no time in my elevator,
For I am dripping
and reminiscing
about everything
you
just
told
me
in this rickshaw striptease world.

But hey there!
Recalculate!
For I am dying simply DYING for a laboratory!
For I am dying simply DYING for some mud!
For I am dying simply DYING for an alphabetical totem!
For I am dying simply DYING!

And oh, in this world, in THIS
sacred bloodbath,
the words fly like hummingbirds!
Like dreary, dreary, hummingbirds,
in marmalade, in mother's words!

This world is just a time machine,
And we've got front row seats.
So yes, we'll put on the rock shows and the tesla coils and the
posters of Winnie the Pooh,
because there's nothing leaving for us
in this freckle cookie world.

I've got ideas, Freddie.
I've got ideas--
And they've got me. They've got me good, like a
sundae and a soccer ball, like a
city-woven carnival.

I would describe myself as disinterested at best--
for I won't be coming back.

Curse this whimsical technobabble!
Curse it all day long!
Here's a short list of things:
Opinions!
Opinions about religions on the Internet,
Opinions about Where the Wild Things Are,
Opinions about
other people's opinions.