be the cigarette that lets the Manchurian
candidate wear your socks to a job interview
because his are all piled in the corner of his
bedroom like a group of dead Kennedy's... bad
thought will never take you home again. the
good is found beyond your comfort zone, so
ride the waves, captain cherokee! and when
the invisible hand of graduality cleaves you
from my marrow, there is nothing but the irk
of a waterfall beyond my cheek-bone, dripping
from the red corners of his chapped lips,
bleeding in the autumnal creek of Octoberish
winterfreeze  

the poem ended where it did, as my inspiration
faded into caffeine insanity and the cipralex kept
me MDMA'd to the glowing grave.

beautiful beautiful beautiful beautiful ! ! !