This is your life as a performance.
Light on.
It’s the horseshoe necklace tickling your neck.
And rhythm in between steps.
                                                            Like tomorrow could die if we sidestep the question mark.
You say “hold your breath.”
                           “What about your future?”
             You say, “ That’s irresponsible. Sit in a giant box covered with lies.”
“Shut up play thing. I need to work. You need to work.”
Full of something else-
                          We are all full of something else.
                                          Bones.
                                                      Blood.
                                                                 Grandma’s Belgian waffles
                                                                           Freak show?
                                                                                         “I’m stuck.” Jack screamed but the child
                                                                                                       Shut down the headphones.
                                                                                                                    Inside the circus.


Wait until he’s let you out!
Poor Jack.
Here it comes.



Wind up the velocity.
Elongate your stride.
Jibber my jabber.
Here comes Jack.
And she baked cookies with your initials on top
Your name happens to be “Untitled”
So there’s a giant question mark.
Full of dough and sugar.
It tasted like Jack’s defecation.
Delicious is mutilation.
The East cries at night for the attention of vapor.
See the beautiful sunset bleeding into itself.
See the orange sky because
Of cans soot and damage.
The sunset smacks the horizon.
See the orange sky because they wouldn’t call you back-
Chained to a tree out west.



The transition will arrive.
Like an annoying child sitting between our see saw
We won’t go anywhere.





Until they leave and
SMACK.
I’ve made it ‘round the curve.
But I threw up a little syrup.
“Shoot for the dot.” And SMACK me harder.
And SMACK the shoes.
And SMACK those beating bleeding blood bags.
But don’t smack your gum.
Wrap yourself in pearls but put your ***** feet into heels.
Give me something that’s dreadfully whimsical.
Jack has made it out alive.
With a smile.
But the little boy hears his cry.
Grasping for life-
Shut tight.

Light off.