The mania;
it crept in,
         One desire
                  after
                                                         Another.
Until
            it was
                                    suffocating
every
part  
of
my
being.

Grass to feed the cows.
Cows to feed the people.
People to feed the insanity.
This life was never mine.
A temporary existence,
A futile attempt,
to exist,
in a world,
         in a society,
with backward priorities
          and corrupt authority.
This universe
          with all of its
contempt
and
pain.
Tears running down the
cheeks of a better people.
Take me home.
I
            Never
belonged here.

the doorbell will never ring at 4am-
no surprise visits,
hesitant, awkward, longing smiles
and hesitant, awkward, longing body language
that sounds more like childish screaming
than pleasant conversation
had by adults who'd administer un-pondered scolding
just for the noise-
at least not anytime soon.
wrapped and delivered, waiting on the stoop,
a box beneath a bow and note scribbled
with little hearts and a name-
an offering responded with fangs and venom
by a snake, like the veins of the heart
that was supposed to grow fonder with absence
but instead grew wicked with the thought
that forcing seconds into minutes-
minutes to hours-
hours to days-
quickly caused us to wonder

he's terrified of her voice
that whips his eardrums like kashmir switches
and tickles his diaphragm until he convulses
in nervous laughter inside his head

the way it inquires broadly,
like an opera written in tornado sirens and megaphones
and the brightness of lighthouses,
for conversation he thought
had drowned long ago and only
reemerges as bubbles on the lake's surface

a boiling body popping deafeningly
with anxiety, and plumping
bravery pasta, which smells seductive,
which he loves...

he's just not hungry right now.

deep within the black shirt
are chamelion hands making mocks
of string
when they should've been
digit deep in a bowling ball
or around the handle of a sauce pan
or on the arm of the couch...
sometimes they'd be cupped
amplifying yells around the mouth,
sourcing the tooth obsession along with a slew of other medical problems,
another bushel of ******* for the stew in the ***
maybe her foreign claws
could rub the knots out of your shoulders
but she is suspected of dropping the world,
and, as with many other things,
would garner your reluctance
to hold risk for,
your red hot fear of hatred
your red hot ******* hatred
those shoulders hold your house
your saxophone
those shoulders hold your experience
your lack thereof, your anxiety
your ******* hatred
your black shirt