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Jacob Singer Sep 2010
And here in this windless hole, I sit and wonder where I had left that which mattered most to me under the starlit fields of Montreal. I crave it and yet wish to God that I had never been the man who held you close to me. Everything I had in my arms in the parking lot outside of that hotel dash turned dash residence. A messy room and a crowded cafeteria. A hotel dash turned dash residence dash turning dash memory. And here in this wonderless *******, in this airtight cabin of past fantasy’s design, the rent keeps piling up and oh the dishes are due. Half-finished paperback classics flapjacked on top of each other in this white shirt no sweat world with the sleeves rolled up. This pill form city with all the charm and magic of an after dinner mint. Take a walk with me, let me tell you about this dream I had.
It had wine
and white sheets and tables.
Paintings that I knew
but did not recognise,
gasping under the grip
of yellowing wallpaper with pink flowers.
It was hell,
hell I tell you.
waking up with fever thinking I was portuguese and that there were three of me
Remembering when you sat me down,
and told me who I was in all of
two paragraphs- underline this underline that.
Black and red LEDs in full contrast of the room turning real again.
All I remember is you.
though a might bit out of vogue
   years after chart topping renown came
since attainment sans high water mark of fame
one combination amongst, who made a name
for himself countless other scenarios
   could be drafted incorporating addressing same
song titles arranged in an alternate combination
   from the GREEN DAY audiofile playlist,
   hoop fully you get my aim.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
As an atypical GREEN DAY fan, when exorcising
mailor daemons along the boulevard of broken dreams
easily misconstruing myself as just another American Idiot,
who mentally, frantically, emotionally veers away from
painful memories linkedin with when September ends.

This mid dull aged mwm accidentally poured 409 in his
coffee maker as proof positive that he iz a basket case.
All the time now (and for about the previous 1000 hours)

carousing Fitbit gremlins housed inside luckless oaf release
trigger, where 21 guns fire banking, bidding, bumping
uglies good riddance to this atheist. Jesus of suburbia waits
with waxed wings, when I come around to recant my ******
babble (attempting to appear as resident of Bend, Oregon.

This faux gad shill Norwegian bachelor redoubt patriot)
indicative of mine sigh lent kickstarter impression that
casts me as off kilter (psychologically), when I strive
to affect the to become welcome to my paradise. This
vantage point (especially atop Mount Everest) offers

the longview sans the big bang theory, where a deafening
cosmic blitzkrieg taught scattered mortals the best way
to know your enemy amidst camouflage, espionage,
hostage taken, yet key modes to keep still breathing
(soundlessly) without being detected.

Minority held opinion if flapjacked, highjacked, kidnapped,
await an opportune circumstance before thrusting out
your thumb vis a vis *** pen to reach sought after
destination (i.e. Lillies of the fields) hitchin' a ride
ideally before experiencing a 21st century breakdown.

While stranded amidst Foreigners, (who exhale Earth,
Wind and Fire) donned as Goo Goo Dolls), perchance
some buzz feeding, gabbing human Beatle browed
Beastie Boy, who doth sport Hair re: Kinks, a patented
trademark of The Village People) will trumpet.

Heed call to arms, via revolution aery radio broadcast
thru the Smash faced mouthpiece of a Ludicris Prince
too dumb to die. Meanwhile Straycats (on the outlook
page number two:

for a stray heart, and potential mate fo Cinderella)
slink into a Soundgarden sanitarium remaining stock
still as Indigo Girls doppelganger. Pseudo surveillance
(controlled by an AC/DC Lumineers progressive Tumblr
Youtube filmed vanity fair, yet essentially shape
shifting ing flickr ring into a tiffany shaped lamp

adorned capriciously, elegantly, garishly invoking
kooky, loopy, lubriciously monied popinjay. Soliloquy
spiel squawking prurient mumbling Jeeves only adds
further confusion to an otherwise totally tubularly
uneventful Rainbow coalition gathering.

This impromptu razzmatazz inadvertently manifests
into a state of the art IdentityGuard espying anyone
with an aim to **** the Dee Jay. He rose from the ranks
as a working class hero, and under the private tutelage
of Saint Jimmy elbowed sought out top honors to be
the ring leader for the upcoming Macy's Day Parade.

This honorific guest feted endowed duty stipulated
that Geek Stink Breath be remedied with any reason
able over the counter breath freshener. Once outfitted
for this fountainhead title (where Atlas Shrugs before

moseying off to Buffalo) hopefully locates whatser
name (an awesome bejeweled charming dame with
a Heart of Queen Latifah). Many admirers and suitors
of said Mademoiselle reckon she ranks as Last of
The Mohicans, as well The Last of The American Girls.

She (this Lady GaGa holds out against pledging her troth
at the countless hot-mails knowing full well, that
nice guys finish last. Oft times behavior of this
Super ***** ping Cheap Trick playing Jewel

appears as a walking contradiction, though nobody
ever faulted said Uber Lourdes for remembering
the forgotten twittering Mama's and Papa's,
whose influence 2,000 light years away prompts
even the staunchest cynic to claim west assured,
cuz East Jesus Nowhere to be found.

— The End —