I built a greasy rafter aftershow to embloden my favorite actors.

I stand rainbows in corners fired about in brick-a-brack cookies.

It's morbid.

AND funny...



And they look at me like I'm more funny than they are.

And if I am?

What **?

Should I resend myself?

Dive in a bar?


Never.

I have a way to get by.

Get by in life.
Sorry, so do you.

We can burn up.
Or we can end up in a hedonistic stew,
after spending our lives melting, and doing out best,
doing our best to live a fun life, then wind up in a vat.

To live all day and make your best,
only to wind up into a battered smoked-out whiskey barrel.

A junk food vat.
Cake with nutrients.

Very 'not sterile.'

Caulked and sauntered in a evercornered in a vat of sugar goo.

Waking up is great,
when you had a nighttime full of dreams.

Sleeping can feel not great,
tho,
when it's bursting at the seams.

I used to sleep,
and dream a lot about a life I should have had.

But now my dreams end up with me shaking,
breaking off slabs of my own cast iron heart.

I know.

It's rusted and torn apart.

I slipped on a pair of sneakers,
Waxey, slick-soled.

Obviously mottled with bleach blots from mopping too many floors.

Made, canvas first,
the cured in a patina of labor.

They're comfy, and rugged, and they will probably last
twice as long as me.

If my shoes could see and endure the future,
do me a favor:
Please don't ever tell me what they will see.

Breaking off chips ice,
More brittle than a pack of Juicy fruit left in my coat packet,
In the car the other day, chipping of bits of dry sugar goo.

Making off, with paper slips make of lies and anything
that left me with more paper at the end of the day,
after waiting for hours at the check cashing place.

I shook off my pants, and spot cleaned to give me 48 more hours
until a proper laundry.

I took off from a broken stance I made for myself.
A sturdy, stable footprint pressed in mud,
and left to freeze overnight.

I made off with a lot of stories,
but I left my mouth at my lover's house.
In the corner, with my charger and water bottle.

So, I shaved off every hair on my head,
slept standing up,
and made-believe I was dead.

I left a hard boiled egg, and dried chili in a pickle jar.

I had a briney, eggy, chilly pickle in my fridge for weeks.


You can't pick in a pickle jar frozen in time just to see.

It's a bullet in the eye that never had a chance to breath and see.


So, one day, maybe, if I'm brave,
I'll have the strength to eat

The flavor I fermented in a jar at the end of the world with solar heat.

I created a new condiment out of jelly, ranch, beef jerky, and lsd.

It's really salty and cost as much as a buttered popcorn kernel cover with the mist of the perfect potato chip.

It's as sweet as a ramen noodle prison driven in an uber lead by a giant ketchup SUV.

I grabbed all my groceries without a bag after I heard half a revolver full of bullets pop off.

My meat bag soaked a paper sheet and started to lose integrity,
ripping at the seams, and it seemed normal.

So, I freaked and I bailed, after I showered, my drain looked like a rusty glitter parade and it made me feel *****.