Gonna get a dog
Name him Adderral
Hope he doesn't run away
That mangy mutt
Stay, boy, stay

I was born to love people too much
I resist telling them what I want
This is not how people should exist  

Come back here boy,
I haven't finished crying to you
Just yet

Blonde, blue eyed, suburban, two hundred percent American
the nation hangs on the perky point of your nose as your
corn silk corkscrew curls are straightened, and you fly to Paris
to collide with fellow shooting stars, but you never forget that boy,

although there are quite a few, lyrics recycling their smiles like
Splenda confectionary tissues. Your melodies are one note harmonies
on the discord of Romantic Middle Class Mediocrity, saccharine
apples in a shiny package for teens who haven't bitten life too deep.

But there is still a boy in a red pickup truck, teardrops and Tim McGraw.
The girl next door has a backbone of country strong and books filled with
silly, sweet, strawberry sodapop songs, slipping over herself in earnest
for the rawness of four chords about love, ends that spiral back to beginnings.

If you go down to the store and buy a soda pop
You'll notice that bottle is nice shiny and filled to the top
You walk out of the store smiling with glee
Ready for the sweet taste of the pop yippee!
But when you crack open the cap the bottle sprays
you never could've seen it would act such a way
Now you're left with a sticky mess
On your shoes and sleaves all the rest
And you think to yourself "wow what a day"
Then you think "Who would behave such a way!"

in the middle where I start,
dark ebb, dark flow.
     The Alice in Wonderland:
a washing machine on spin -
weaving this and that 'til
it's just dips between the strings, just perforations in the canvas
     that tear and break night into

pounding pavement,
bringing ocean's hairline to itch and flake
and radio waves booming
to tear mesh 'til texture.

     a post-sodapop hiccup.

     the jump and stumble of a green button-up blouse
whose brown buttons blend slowly
     until, on either side in a landslide
of springtime pollen on the sleeves and
     slowing to a rinse draining dark with a single
highlight of white drizzle
left on shingles and on Monarchs' wings

to drip to soil with the dark dip of horsehair
into the ***** watercolor that’s left over
from the spin where Alice got lost and began.

**** seed
Outshining the sun
Glowing sodapop yellow
Against a holiday blue sky
And contrasting green
In new leaves
And freshly cut grass
For play
Blood dripping red
From knees
Unto the green
And sometimes
Unto the concrete kerb
**** seed in the background
Summer stains

Lie awake
Goodwill paintings
Cracked tea cups
Wet nose kisses
From your kitten
Smile big you made it
Bask in reality you feel it
Settling in your sodapop veins
Cotton candy cigarettes fill your lungs
You swung from playgrounds into motels
And I watched you dropping weight
Like a broken highschool vending machine
Taking time between each menthol drag to
Talk to God about missing Mom
I wonder if she misses you back
She left you a note in your art box
But it's been locked since that day
You'll open it some day
Some day

Keep writing till I stop
Pony and Sodapop
Thank you: krop kun kop

                 Poetry!