Rancor,
Swashbuckling with a sawtooth grin and sacrilegious shouts, selcouth with an unsound mind, the commonness of uniqueness, the commonness of opinionated onions cutting their teeth on life and crying, again, and ready to saw off the limbs of the opposition out of revenge!
Rancor, relax, you're not a Twitter matador, I wish you were because I’d love to watch the show.
We cuddle with exotic nylon fibers and squeal about our weight and status and how someone insulted us and how terrible it is to be alive while sipping on easily accessibly high fructose corn syrup! Life has never been this sweet, but I guess we’re getting sick of honey.
I complain about the complaints, I am the anti-complaining complaint club president.
I am a writer, an iPhone thumb tapper.
Hear me
These mental gymnastics will somersault and summerset you right, child,
Don’t listen to Rancor,
That man’ll grab your gaze and stir your attention into a cocktail while winking at you from behind the bar
he’ll leave your brain a little woozy from a life that used to be sweet until you left it out in the sun a few years too long,
I wonder if some of the dead watch us from the corners of our bedroom or the trees along the freeway, waiting for greatness to unfurl.
I’ll bet they do and I’ll bet you’re a glitch, I’ll bet a little piece of another galaxy hit you in the head and made your finger twitch.
How many hot car hours have been spent in a parking lot,
the skin dries, the phone dies,
the spirit once lifted towards the outlines of the mountain peak now seeks memes, transcendent in their own right.

Dear book weight,
I dreamt of you
As my sweet fate

Dressed all on burgundy
Bragged of those elegant seams
Those that made you candy

And as foolish as it seems
A great desire awoke in me

I had no money to spare
Maybe,
Only if I miss my bread

So in a summer night
I swapped three meals
for your delight

"It is not even windy,"
My mother said,
"why would you want that instead?"

"I dream of windy nights,"
I replied
"one day my pages will try to fly"

What if my thoughts have no ground?
Who will plant True words in my mouth?

Only something heavy enough
Something that could make me tough

You!
My elegant book weight
The things I'd do for you
Throw my phone out the gate
'cause my purse can hold a few

Off it goes
On the rue

Now come on
Inside my purse

~          *           ~

Dear book weight,
It's January and its Winds
They've come to haunt me

But they don't know
I am ready

No longer a boat without anchor
You hold me down on earth
No longer in need of my rancor
to daunt me from my death

A merger
in trust
for maddow's
a bust
that make
her square
with her
offense that
snare deeds
that evoke
innuendos with
republicans that
newly file
returns these
later dates
and oft-counter
claims inside.