Celebrities make poor politicians.
Poor politicians become celebrities.
Click. Clique.

I’m straining my arms and I’m pulling my shoulders,
from pushing each line and carrying our shared boulders.
And my hands are burned and skin’s scraped,
knuckles cracked and broken fingertips,
a few careless words escaped
and I wished to push them back behind my lips.

I’ve got the motor warm and running,
and the waves have settled as they should,
I write down just how I find you stunning,
I would voice it if I only could.

You ask if I’m confident and I tell you I don’t know,
can I make an impossible jump,
oh holy Holly, I don’t think so.
I’m no Henry, no Fonz, no Winkler,
I’m not a stunt performer on T.V,
I barely run through the sprinkler,
I sure as hell will find death in the sea.

The rope’s as tight as a fresh noose,
and my ski’s barely fit my bottom soles,
my hands are clenched just too loose,
I would prefer to be sleeping on coals.
The crowd’s cheers become a lashing,
blood dissolved into the water and salt,
an angry tail’s now thrashing,
my situation is entirely my own fault.

I’m jumping the shark,
without a trial run.
Leaving an infamous mark,
just before it’s all done.
I’m jumping the shark,
it’s the end to my character arc.
I’m jumping the shark,
desperation has never stood so stark.

I’ve glimpsed shadowed empty sets
and walked among great ruins,
I’m tired of swimming in regrets,
pretty please, can I hide in your flesh wounds?
I’ve been taking theatre classes
to act like I’m not terribly bothered,
but every beach goer casually passes,
my body that’s been brutally slaughtered.

I want to feel the water the way that I once did,
with carefree wonder like when I was a kid.
But I always hated the sand, and the way that it encased my toes,
but they’re calling me to set to stand, to see how this final shot goes.

The hoop is placed ontop of a mild wave,
I wish that they engulfed it first in flame,
they praise me for being so brave
but it’s I, not the shark, that is tame.
They’re calling out the term “action”
and I look for my highlighted script,
I only read a small fraction
before I thought it best to rip.

I’m jumping the shark,
without a trial run.
Leaving an infamous mark,
just before it’s all done.
I’m jumping the shark,
it’s the end to my character arc.
I’m jumping the shark,
cut camera and roll credits in the dark.

Baby I know you’re infamous
But you can be my infamous love.
Baby you know I’m infamous
But I can be your infamous love.
As long as we stay in love
We can be infamous together.

Your feelings for me are an explosive scandal
They won't let you get away with it.
My feelings for you are an explosive scandal
They won't let me get away with it.
But as long as we can keep the feelings our own
We can be scandalous together and feel just fine.

I am found
in newspaper print
a clue of
fragmented illusion.
Reduced to a
muddy shoe print,
I turn the page.

Today I bought a square plate
it's not for me, but for an enemy
that I could do worse things to, if I was a less noble person
as the things they've done I will not speak.

The plate is porcelain and quite finely made
elegant and excellently finished for how not so pricey it was
hints of history seems to hide in it's shell--
as seams are weaved into
what has probably lived a long and unused existence
this handcrafted masterpiece.

Separately painted by some fancy artist
to whom I do not recognize the name of,
although it is said he may have done something wrought with his ear
or did this man's uncle make this plate, oh well, I am unsure.

It is these very details to why,
I am now in possession of this piece of the past
that will be priceless to those who know more craftsmanship,
at least more knowledgeable than the man who sold it to me.

From the gleaming in your eyes
I can tell this plate may even mean a great deal to you
is this true my good friend?
oh well, I guess I can give the plate to you
instead of the devil I spoke of before.

*As I handed my prize to them
it began to feel heavier than any ordinary plate should,
gravity granted the greatest reprise I've ever sought
as the demon's face whelmed with depression
and mine satisfaction--
for being such a convincing storyteller.

It was an early night –
1:00 AM early.
The police passed by
For the bigger problems
And the clubs roared
A little louder than usual.

Loud and aloud while I danced
And danced
The Saturday night stumble –
To the left, to the right
And twice back,
Destination: Home.

I continued too tripped,
Or ripped,
To have a friend,
A little lonely,
But feeling a little famous
All the same and all the while.

I strode with swagger,
Head held a little higher than usual,
Made my way home, slept
And started over tomorrow,
Or was it the day after; the, “numb,”
Could be such a nimble little feat.

It’s a good thing that a cold beer’s
Always just around the corner,
So to, the stumble may begin once more,
And the tip-tap, tip-tap,
Stammer, side-step, fall will
Lead me once more unto rest –

Fallen and without dreams.

My vocabulary is beginning to fade,
I see lights that I shouldn't see.
Shadow figures are surrounding me,
I can not see.
I can not see.
She grabs a hold of my arm, warning me tightly,
I laughed it off, pretending to care.

She screams to me, "Why can't you see?",
see the things which are in me.
I saw her tempting glare, pulling me in for this seductive game,
lust and love, they corrupt one another.
I could not bare to let this moment pass.
She looked at me dead in the eyes,
I saw the shadow figure for the first time.
Now in the face of hers, but in another.
A woman.
A woman I looked up to once.
Begin to panic: automatically.

I felt my heart drop completely.
He thinks I'm insane.
she understands the game.
I've been, manipulated.
I wish people understood us,
those figures who shrug the world off.
We don't care about infamy, it's just,
if we don't have hate, we will degrade.

We are left to be soiled in the ground,
to the point we are molded now.
We just want to break off this pain,
but we never, never, never were cared.
Those who wear the masks are safe.
Those pretenders, faking in the grave,
dancing a sweet jig before I see,
I will never return the pattern to them.

The pretzel feeling through my brain,
forgiveness shall never be taken easily again.
I will not, let myself degrade.
I shall stand alone in this rain.