My mother is a piano
A little out of tune
Dusty keys
That play with ease
Ivory as the moon

Sometimes I’ll touch the wood
And admire its antiquity
Think of all the things that it
Ever dreamed to be

Sometimes when my fingers
Fly through a song
I wonder how this piano
Ever got so strong.

My mother is a piano,
She makes music out of air,
She answers each finger
With an embrace, with care

Her legs planted firmly
in the ground
How much I love to hear
her deep, rich sound.

The world is flat
That's what they told me

...and I always take people at their word
Nice people like at The Acme Company
always believing what they say

I am a gullible fool
to trust, to love, to hope
to get ground down that way

I cower
I yelp when kicked

Running, madly
scramble over edge of ice
(New concept of Antarctica)
Missed the sign
for The Acme Map Company
and that dead end
Loaded down with Acme Explosives

Cartoon coyote
Always sees “that painted tunnel”
as possible place to hide
Inexplicably
shows up again--
just a little fried
smoke rising from my scalp
small white flag in hand
says, “HELP”

Scramble over that ledge of melting ice
and crumbling shame
Clinging by my fingertips

You'd think something would finally do me in

Me and "Wile E. Coyote--  Genius"
__

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j8eP0ntOJ1U

Wile E. Coyote and the Road Runner are classic cartoon characters that date back to 1949.  They've been popular ever since.  I think the sound effects, music, and the timing of the animators are elements that make them so good.  Their expressions just **** me.

I searched inside myself to realize
there is nothing left to find.
A heart of stone and eyes that never cry,
a confused and twisted mind.
My soul is cold and black as starless nights, never meant to shine.

I know i am just a no one born on forsaken lane.
Belonging nowhere except to the house of pain.
There is no peace within me, no compassion i can claim.
A ******* of the world is my bane.
Will someone tell me my name?
I am a man without a name.


I searched inside myself to realize...there's no one left to find.

You once told me
That we would rise from the dark
Like a phoenix in its own ashes
And I believed you

You talked about the beauty of the past
Of caves and of their drawings
How the past calls us to use it
A fiery sword to lead us to the light
And I believed you

You showed me that my art could be more
That there should always be meaning
That there should always be soul
And so I gave my art more life
More soul
And I believed in you

Each line you drew
Each black acrylic spiral
Each word you wrote on canvas
Were similar to mine, in a way
The way the words repeated over and over
Were similar to mine
Were similar to mine
Were similar to mine
And I believed in you

Each line you drew
Each black acrylic spiral
Each word you wrote on canvas
Were similar to mine, in a way
But yours were never yours to begin with
They were Basquiat's
They were Basquiat's
They were Basquiat's
And I couldn't believe it

You showed me that my art could be more
That there should always be meaning
That there should always be soul
And so here it is
With more soul than you will ever have
I hate that you made me believe in you

You talked about the beauty of the past
But never talked of the horrors of your own
And now approaches the fiery sword
To strike you down like the demon you are
And I believe you deserve to rot

You once told me
That we would rise from the dark
Like a phoenix in its own ashes
And I believed you
But now I believe that you don't deserve to

I love her.
No not ******* worldly,
But softly, purely , celestially.
Obsessively?
Not necessarily, just completely,
selfishly and I'm sorry.
I love her unconditionally, some say unconventionally.
But they don't understand me.
Yes...I love her.
Most spiritually, asexually, platonically and wholly.
I love her, truly, honestly, musically and poetically...
She doesn't have to love me.