i have tea. i suspect the morning is surrounding the world with a tiny cup of sunlight.
and there are no usual things. everything is unusual. everything.
i am here now… and i feel it. and i will never have a cage with a bird inside. i am not cruel.
i’m drinking tea.

i’m not bored. i’m just waiting. my eyes are never sure about the splendor. they suspect a spring
attached to tiny gears, die cut whirligigs and ethereal hands attending; deep underneath my gazing. and i am still tired… the shackles of entropy hold sway and i contend with easy wit in a fog of sparkles. it’s a sloooooow glorious. even with too much sugar in my tea, because sleepy.
you get out of bed to greet me.

it’s a good day.

This Love Song seemed like a safe place to unpack my ****.
But a safe place is where Lyrics go to die.
And this is Not a Song.

and it starts like this. all the time.


II

i fella sleep in a widdle boat and told a seagull that i was having a dream
about talking to seagulls and he was astonished to have the pleasure of meeting a boat
that had the good sense to plug the hole with a poet…. because they never wake up
and they do so with extreme prejudice. that simply screams Resident.
In Fact!

He’d never even seen a boat. So there’s THAT. I offered Seagull “ The Cool -Side of The Pillow. “
So I could sit upright for a moment and jot this down. He was like “ What’s a pillow? “
And I had no idea what it was that brushed against my legs
but It was There. then It was Gone. when i stopped using the metaphor.


I was treading a fathom
of pixie dust and transgender proto-gods, all cuddling in a huddle of metaphysics
as adorable as a radioactive abrupt

stop.



III

Ah yes… someone was cooking bacon… and bacon is sleep’s kryptonite. so the dream was a wrap.
and i had a bird’s nest woven from the silk of my discarded cocoon. codename: Chrysalis.
and my mouth was dry. a stubborn dry that follows a deluge of phantasmagoria  
on a Futon that is a God to cat hair. My Futon is Oblique and Omnipotent.
Apparently.

Uber Mecca for Cat Hair. I fell asleep on that.

you got the fever.
i heard the rumors.
you in-cyst
I’m the tumor.
we got legs.
we got spiders
we got thumbtacks
we got *****.
we got a dead Poseidon.
and just enough Chalk
to trace a sun.

and we ain’t talkin’.
and we ain’t not.
we got sidewalks
that hate walks.
we got pinwheels
we got hurt.
and that’s peculiar.
cause i feel nothing.
And I Know
that i know exactly
how that feels
for some reason.

and it shows.

You can be polite. Or you can tell all the Julia’s in the world the things you think about when they’re talking to You.  You could just…  Start. Talking.  It would be delicious and taboo and all that, and maybe a little awkward for all the Julia’s but the mainest thing… It would be impossible to ever. give. a ****. ever. again. You Know This. You Know It Like you Know how many bottles of champagne it takes to even Begin to be enough champagne. This skill is highly prized. And you can DO this. You can do this Sophia. Right here. Right now. You can - tch. You’re not even listening to me, are you?  That is awesome.
    I can see it all now… one, two maybe five Julia’s all yapping away in a Vera **** pincer formation and then….! You open your mouth. The stars fall. The Julia’s are like “ What the-? “ and you, Sophia… Drowning the Gallery. Using all the colors you discovered on your expeditions. A Rainbow made of Lions. I can see it. And you can DO this. You can do this Sophia Conasta. Right here. Right now. You can even begin with a… You’re not even listening to me, are you? My God! you’re beautiful.
Like a bomb that uses a fork because ground zero was no place be Un-Civilized. In fact. Ground Zero wasn’t even a Place until you got there. And let your Self, drop! I mean to say…. You can be polite. Or. You can be Sophia being sophia. period. There’s a lot of tuxedos at this Event, have you noticed that? When did they come back? And why lord! do they all look terrible?
    How long have I been gone? What the hell is Julia talking about now? That’s Leonard Maxwell and his assistant, April Alcott.  She burns money to watch it burn-Ironically, but she’s not sure if she’s doing it right because if it Meant Anything in the first place, she would be first to have no clue what it meant. So now she nails it, but never gets a prize. She bought a lot of my dark stuff from 5 yrs ago that paid for the flat in Portland. What the hell is she wearing? A rhinestone baby Jesus tongue stud? I love these parties. I hate these parties. I’m Sophia Conasta. Celebrated Artist whose Body of Work has astonished the Hoi Polloi of the Art World, and totally lost right now.
     What is Julia’s problem? Did she lose a Horse? Again? Somehow?Or Something? Open Bars Are Go! I’ll just weave my way over to the Gayest Cabal and Julia will be scraped off like a Barnacle* By GUCCI, and then I’ll be clearly Minus One Julia. That can only be a good thing. And - Open Bar. Breathe, Drink
Genius.

.

Declan Shapiro had a switchblade. One day he didn’t go to school and got really good at not knowing why his father shot 9 nine people he had never met, and then shot himself when the cameras arrived.
He mastered the basics. And these were the basics. Then you work your way down. Got it?
So Declan Shapiro stole a car. Stealing glances at this point just didn’t have the Juice. He parked the car in the trunk of the car. His genius was to drive it off a cliff a few miles outside of town, with a brick and belt strapped to the wheel and the stick. It was so beautiful to feel something that it nearly killed him to thumb a ride into town and leave all those emotions on the edge. He was home by 9:35 pm and that’s what he told the cops. There was meatloaf with a ketchup smiley face next to some mashed potatoes on a paper plate just being the worst sort of super fan.

When Tanner Percy McQueen lost her virginity on purpose, the purpose was a thing that words were powerless to express, and yet she will never forget the premise. It was like keeping track of every fork in a lie to avoid getting caught in one, with all the panache of up close magic. Her room was a mess because she was looking for her loose change. A girl's gotta eat. Her mother, apparently, had to drink all the Benadryl and watch Animal Planet. Tanner Percy McQueen got her **** together and hopped on her bike with the banana seat all the boys wanted to be. She got where she was going before she realized her heart was broken and this was the place that didn’t care to talk to her about it. It was just noise and pills and beautiful monsters. They had hot dogs you could get for 2 dollars and she had 2 dollars so…. She bought some Ecstasy instead and told Stacy Mathers she was fat and that she wanted to kiss her on the mouth but it hurts when she wakes up and the world is still there and that she got this bracelet from some creep in a parking lot who never even tried to make a pass at her. She had no idea it glowed in the dark.

The Misfortune of having you all to myself
has Irony’s respect. Only games without masters
call Love “ Sensei “. And every one of them
thought Irony was Abe Vigoda
sifting through the entrails of a Tuna Melt, at Morty Yang’s
looking for the cookie choking on a Bilingual Mobius strip
of impenetrable punchlines.
And always late to a funeral like The Good Gin.

we slept on a bed of fails
and our lives as footstools on soap boxes began
as only the best endings require
before waiving the usual fee, and diving into the role
of a last time nobody knew was The Last Time.
chewing up the screen between  intimate strangers
calling all the shots on the set by telepathy
like a betty davis that would never ever not help you
if it helps to sniff glue
or to hardly ever do
and then stop.
or not.

yeh, We Got THAT betty davis.

we found the most corrosive script
and mangled that baby with the camera obscura still rolling
And that guaranteed we had something to show the wolves at the door.
that would generate the buzz in the saw
that you Can’t UnSee.
and what follows?

anybody’s regret.

we slept in cots on the Lot, a lot.
but that was all in the papers that we rolled
to smoke the ***. in all the rags in Coolsville.
our collapsing star rising on page six
of a Charles Bukowski restraining order.
and as I recall, there was no catering -
for locations that devolved into gothic cathedrals
that slept with your expectations to get the part.
and we didn’t know that was a thing.

But hey,
you made it hurt
like you already
knew.

we flipped a coin to see who would yell “ Cut “ !

And then...

now it's all
you do.

The Book had bones. Belied by Time’s vendetta with Vellum.
I had finished. And all the revels in It -
Seeped from an Unwell Spring where Winter’s Wound
would always keep the Venom
A Keepsake in remembrance of an Inner Child
as Precocious as a swarm of Locusts…
wherever tomes were broken at the spine…
He focused.

Felt the Leather like a Priest - Recently released from draconian vows His chastity would have long despised…
If his Innocence had only known the Eve
of his Destruction as only an Inner Man recalls.
But Hallowed were the halls.

Despite the Gravity so rare a thing as wisdom brings -
He Levitates as every chapter churned the milk
that fattened a golden calf
Into butter enough for Loaves of Zero. Plus one.
and a crust of Yes.

At the Rubicon, a step was taken
into a Wilderness of No Return
Where the Natives had no word for Exile.
And a Child was A Curious Thing

To the Death.


II


The Book had bones. And I know because
I found them in the margins
While turning the last page in a reverential stupor…
More words!
And I found them - !
Fluent in AfterThought
As I read them like stroking
a panther.

And I Quote…… "


you think and thus you speak
whatever Thinking thinks
To Think a lot.

And Speaking -
speaks what Thinking
spoke of speaking
after Thinking
Thoughts.

So -
Thoughts are Thunk.
And Thinks are Thinked
and all the Speaks
have Spoke.  "

and now begins The  Cramp of Legend
for my anonymous hand ! Oh joy !
my pharmacist will be Kip with The Beard.
Because Akiko in a Lab Coat is more than I deserve
or something... Ever felt like that?

Oh God! I hope she didn't Quit !