capable but unmotivated,
love being different, hate being misunderstood,
impulsive long term planner.
strange mix of super private and open book.
rational yet unrealistic.
great at giving advice, bad at following it.
arrogant, but painfully aware of my flaws
sure of myself, yet unassuming
introverted extrovert,
rigorous yet care-free,
perpetual loner with tons of friends.
energetic but lazy,
sensitive, yet cold hearted
gregarious yet studious,
intelligent but spacey,
personal, yet detached.
unhealthy, yet understanding therapist,
competitive mediator.
The optimist who just wants to see the world burn.
Where do I fit in?

1975 Art Institute is tactic for Odysseus to put off dealing with real world also investigate range of visual techniques gay instructor fruitlessly endeavors to ****** him he enjoys several affairs with beautiful girls yet Bayli haunts him main building of school is connected behind Art Institute of Chicago Odysseus spends lots of time looking at paintings Edward Hopper’s “Nighthawks” Gustave Caillebotte’s “Paris Street Rainy Day” Ivan Albright’s “Portrait of Dorian Gray” Jackson *******’s “Greyed Rainbow” Georgia O’Keeffe’s “Black Cross New Mexico” Francis Bacon’s “Figure with Meat” Pablo Picasso’s “The Old Guitarist” Balthus’s “Solitaire” Claude Monet’s “Stacks of Wheat” Paul Cezanne’s “The Bathers” Vincent Van Gogh’s “Self-Portrait” Edouard Manet’s “The Mocking of Christ” Henri Toulouse-Lautrec’s “At the Moulin Rouge” Robert Rauschenberg’s “Photograph” Mary Cassatt’s “The Child’s Bath” Peter Blume’s “The Rock” Ed Paschke’s “Mid America” Grant Wood’s “American Gothic” Jasper John’s “Near the Lagoon” and John Singer Sargent James McNeill Whistler Diego Rivera Marsden Hartley Thomas Eakins Winslow Homer his 2nd year at Art Institute involves student teaching during day then at night working as waiter at Ivanhoe Restaurant and Theater gay managers teach him to make Caesar salad tableside and other flamboyant tasks wait staff are all gay men once more Odysseus experiences bias from homosexual regime he is assigned restaurant’s slowest sections it bothers him the way some gay men venomously condescend women and their bodies Odysseus loves women especially their bodies he thinks about how much easier his life would be if he was gay in 1976 the art world is managed by gay curators gay art dealers he wonders if he could be gay yet not realize it can a person be gay but not attracted to one’s own ***? Ivanhoe hires variety of night club acts one night he watches Tom Waits perform on piano in lounge Odysseus feels inspired in 1977 he graduates with teacher’s certification he considers all the sacrifices teachers make and humiliating salaries they put up with he does not want to teach candidly he feels he has nothing yet to teach teaching degree was Mom’s idea Odysseus wants to learn grow paint after Art Institute he flip-flops between styles his artwork suffers from too much schooling and scholastic practice it takes years to find his own voice he has tendency to be self-effacing put himself down often he will declare what do i know? i’m just a stupid painter one topic artists do not like talking about is their failures how much money they cost creation requires resource paint and canvas can be expensive how much money is spent on harebrained ideas that never pan out? most artists resort to cheap or used materials few can afford their dreams he gets job selling encyclopedias that job lasts about 5 weeks then he finds job selling posters at framing store on Broadway between Barry and Wellington Salvador Dali Escher Claude Monet prints are the rage his manager accuse him of lacking initiative being spacey after several months he gets laid off he finds job waiting tables during lunch shift at busy downtown restaurant other waiters are mostly old men from Europe they play cards with each other in between shifts teach Odysseus how to carry 6 hot plates on one arm and 2 in his other hand the job is hectic but money is good experience educates differently than books and college a university degree cannot teach what working in the real world confronts people learn most when they are nobodies he reads Sartre’s “Being And Nothingness” he wants to discover who he is by finding out who he is not often he rides bicycle along lakefront taking different routes sometimes following behind an anonymous bicyclist possibly to come across new way he does not know or to marvel at another person’s interest

truth is this life is too difficult for me the violence hatred turf wars tribalism laws judgments practices rules permits history i’m not prepared emotionally to withstand the realities of this world not equipped psychologically to deal with the stresses of this world not prepared emotionally to withstand the realities of this world not equipped psychologically to deal with the stresses of this world i’m sorry am i repeating myself i apologize i’m not prepared emotionally to withstand the realities of this world not equipped psychologically to deal with the stresses of this world god please protect teach me strength courage fairness compassion wisdom love i’m not prepared emotionally to withstand the realities of this world not equipped psychologically to deal with the stresses of this world

buy divinity purchase devotion earn reward points own 4 bedroom loft with roof garden deck porch pool parking in paradise’s gated community pay for exclusive membership into sainthood become part of inner circle influence determine fate destiny of everything step up to the plate sign on the line immortalize yourself feel the privileges of eternal holiness i’m living inside a nightmare inside a nightmare inside a nightmare hello? i am dizzy in my own self-deceptions lost in my own self-deceptions alone in my own self-deceptions there was a time once but that time is gone there was a place once but that place has vanished there was a life once but that life is spent remember when things were different truth is i’m weak skittish anxious alienated paranoid scared to death pagan idiot stop

breath deeply push stale air out imagine kinder more respectful loving world please god do your stuff angels throw your weight around clean up this mess planets align stars shine ancient spirits raise your voices magic work there are words when spoken can change everything words rooted to spiritual nerves if voiced in  particular order secret passwords capable of setting off persuasions in the mind threads to the heart if a person can figure out which words what order tone of voice rate of pronunciation time of day then that person can summon powers of the supernatural Isis goddess of celestial sway of words whisper secret earth water fire air reveal your alchemy winter spring summer autumn teach about passages patterns sublime eastern western sun fickle moody moon unveil your heavenly equation north south east west  beat the drums blow winds show the path to healing path of the heart blood dirt hair *** bare the mystery of your trance dance the ghost dance sacred woman with ovaries cycles flow smell beautiful girl eyes sweetness strange awkward skinny scruffy boy great bear spirit bird jumping fish wise turtle where are you why is there no one to back me? jean paul sartre what was your last thought before you died? was it nausea? nothingness? or a wish?

my mind is a planetarium
where each memory is a meteorite
and every apology burns like a dying star.

enclosed in the vast celestial stretch of my skull,
planets tend to vanish without the courtesy of a goodbye,
but i'm just happy to have housed them for a little while.

my projector is faulty and sometimes,
the images i try to convey become obscured
("asteroids may be larger than they appear").

i can't help but speak in broken constellations,
and hope that you somehow understand
that i have nothing but the best intentions.

not to mention, i've seen a lot of visitors, though
none have ever stayed for long, after they've surveyed
that i'm nothing more than a bunch of chaotic galaxies.

i rubbed the collection of stardust and debris from my eyes
and to my surprise, found that you hadn't gone anywhere.
instead, you were there, floating through my solar systems.

you've got me orbiting around your finger
like the rings around the sixth planet from the sun.
i come undone a little more with every word you breathe.

my bones are made of moon rock, aching like cold craters,
waiting patiently for the radiant warmth of the sun,
or your breath, or your touch, whichever is closest.  

the most stellar display of stars i have ever seen
are not in the belt of orion, nor anywhere within the milky way -
instead they are lightyears beyond, resting comfortably behind your lips.

- m.f.

**** angles.
This house has got plenty of **** angles. Tom knows, I don't. Tom knows more about that kinda stuff because that's Tom's forte.
Old Cochrane.

I'm not sure what disabilities he suffers from, but to be honest it doesn't seem much like he suffers. He's just a dude with a loud set of brains fixated on a very Cochrane world, sort of like Plato I guess, beard and everything, looking at the angles and strange asymmetric dots with a feeling that there’s some preternatural 'other world' where all of Cochrane's expectations are met and this house as well as the world would do ******* well to abide by it if it knows what's good.

Old Cochrane loves Superman Returns. I once saw him watch Superman Returns 3 times in one sitting, to the point that it became Superman Returns Returns Returns and for Chrissake if Metropolis were real I doubt his ethics would be much appreciated anymore but hey, who am I to say? I'm no Clark Kent but I'm sure Cochrane thinks he is, and if he's damnwell Plato he can damnwell be Clark Kent just as well as the next Kryptonian sucker to crash-land on planet Earth, and it's damnwell possible Cochrane is from Krypton for all I know, he's got some miraculous will-power and push, that's for **** sure.

He's always yelling, 'ober-der! Ober-der!' like he's some sad German screaming at the **** Poles across the Oder-Neisse line as if it were there **** fault. It's either that or Krypton is ober-der and he just wants to go home, or maybe his face gets red because he knows damnwell where Lex Luthor is hiding and he just wants our ******* help finding him.

I think Old Cochrane has a crush on Kevin Spacey.

I wouldn't know, but I'm making that assumption *** Cochrane looks pretty spacey sometimes.
Okay, that was just a bad joke. I'm not too good at jokes.

I have two coworkers named Ryan. To avoid any confusion we all just call them by their last names, Soprovich and Danyluk, but most of the time we just call Soprovich Ryan Sop, and I'm not sure if he much appreciates the nickname. Our bosses name is Pam Wadden and in response to her calling him Ryan Sop he asked if he could call her Pam ***.
Pam didn't hear that of course, but I heard it. And it was at that moment I made the judgement that old Ryan Sop is good at jokes.

Anyways to slide back to my point, once I was working with both Danyluk and Soprovich and as I was leaving, to shave a few seconds before my bus, I said, 'Bye.. Ryan..s'
that made them both laugh a little so I quickly made the judgement that I'm sometimes good at jokes but I never mean to be which is kinda Zen I suppose. Buddhist effortless effort or whatever they damnwell call it.

I've always been somewhat of an intellect, but not usually of my own freewill. I read a lot, but I sort of read like a ****** addict shoots-up.. just one more line, just one more paragraph.. and before I know it I've finished a book that kinda scared me but good ******* the high was fine.

I guess it's not really like that at all, but I like to think of it like that sometimes, it kind of excites my stomach in the good way, makes me feel like some ******* rebel reading **** the government has probably already burned or recycled into the paper bags I shop with at Safeway..
shopping at Safeway.. livin' life the Safe Way.. gatherin all the grosh-rees, yeah, you ****** know me
I forgot to mention I'm somewhat of a part-time rapper and 40% of the time I have rap lyrics pulsing through my head as my own inner monologue. I dunno why but it's always kinda made me proud to think the way I do and ******* does life get high and low and if you understood you would know what I'm talking about, but I know you probably know what I know, I just like to be a little pretentious about that kinda stuff *** if I pretend I'm the only one it kinda manifests in my attitude and I get girls easier.

True story.

Maybe.

Probably not, but if ya see what I'm getting at that assertion is part of the pretention *** I'm a ******* hipster for Chrissake, writing like J.D. Salinger, reading like Kerouac without the squinty drunk eyes of infinite sadness.

I'm not trying to be needlessly edgy or ****
But can we lay off Kevin all up in yo Spacey?
I know it seems wrong
But I feel I can understand
Or at least relate
Because when I feel too much love in my heart
For somebody younger
Who is a guy
I start doing crazy ****
Like projecting my life onto his
Maybe he's scared
Maybe he's alone
Maybe I could save someone from that
I have to remind myself that was just me
And that there is no such thing as salvation
When your mistakes are supercharged
Because of the scandalous homosexual element
Yet there's no one to turn to
Because nobody understands
So your actions become louder to drown the silence
The stakes of the mischief grow
There's tens of thousands of dollars in property damage
That can be attributed to my sexuality
You have to find a way to push past that
The only way I found
Is to be open about who you are
Because until then the fear will consume you
You fear they will laugh, mock, judge and hate you
Until you wish they were silent again
And they will do all these things
And you will wish all those things
But you'll be able to face it with strength and honesty
Because your fear is more powerful than their callousness
But more importantly it's better than the alternative
When people discover your nature
Through a mistake you've made
And unleash the wrath of God
They will never give a ****
About how they contribute to these moments
They're only there to throw gas on the fire
They say it's a mistake to ****** a minor
They say it's a mistake to be a whiner
And there's no one who'll ever take your call
Expecting them to understand
Well, that's the biggest mistake of them all

Tracy Batman

Give me one reason,
and I’ll turn back around,
almost past The Point of No Return,
and see no point in turning back now,

like Tracy Chapman or Bruce Wayne Batman,
or Tracy Morgan or Morgan The Captain,

or better yet a Spacey Captain or a spacey Batman,
just not a Kevin Spacey because we all know what happened,
oh no no fake strangers only straight facts fam,
you see I see the whole thing through I’m not a flash in the pan scam,

I’m beginning till end from lights camera action to it’s a wrap man,

gone till November,
leaving on a jet plane to Denver,
more Tracy Chapman than Tracy Morgan,
more Jon Wayne than Jon Denver,

more Honcho than Jon Doe,
more Pronto than Macho,
more Brando than Tonto,
full throttle no point in turning back now,

wow,

only time I feel alive is when I almost die,
we do like vroom vroom we do we don’t try,
no need to try to live that life when you really live that life,
why sail the high seas when you can reach Heaven and fly,

living The Life of Lives,
living the Dream of Dreams,
and you’re looking at me,
like “What do you mean?”,

I mean,
for real,
for really real,
how do you really feel?

It’s 2018,
and this feels like a Sci-Fi flic,
one where we’re an Army of One,
about to deploy and I feel sick,

see every Moon has it’s dark side,
every man has something to hide,
like Nazis with a secret base on the moon,
in a film from 2012 set in 2018 entitled Iron Sky,

but instead of Pink Floyd everything’s Purple Noise,
this is the year after the Artist Formally Named Prince finally died,

and cryptos were raised from the dead like a horror story,
Tales From The Crypto or better yet Tales From The Darkside,
saw a drawing at an art exhibit in Phoenix called Sad Pony,
it was sad because it was a unicorn without a horn so the spark had died,

and now he appeared alive,
even though when you look close you see the spark has disappeared from his eyes,

and he knows he has to escape before this city gets the only thing he has left,
which is the Soul he holds dear as he marches through the pain and the fears,
and he’s ready to go already but doesn’t want to leave you behind,
so before he goes he turns on his toes and asks you one thing just to be clear,

“Are you ready to get out of here?”

Give me one reason,
and I’ll turn back around,
almost past The Point of No Return,
and see no point in turning back now,

like Tracy Chapman or Bruce Wayne Batman,
gone till November leaving on a jet plane to Denver,
more Tracy Chapman than Tracy Morgan,
more Jon Wayne than Jon Denver,

more Honcho than Jon Doe,
more Pronto than Macho,
more Brando than Tonto,
full throttle no point in turning back now…

∆ LaLux ∆

2/5/18

There is humility in astronomy, an irony in the economy of the stars, stalling me in the calm, but violent swarm of galaxies formed in the back of a speeding car from afar, coming back to bet the bank on distances, and states of gaseous faces on planets placated with servants to Satan, flagrantly begging for space ships to take them.

Take them to the place where fate is sedated, and rearranged to uncling the things estranged in the fanged perfection of the prey that pray, to place their hope in a slate to later revive from, inanimate stardom, starring from the trunk, in luckless stunts to **** outer worldly ***** that harvest seeds to weave life into the galaxies, so that we can now breathe..

This new man has staticky ambitions;
Believes the future needs something to do
And talks to me in straight lines

The ****-flavored pears
Now littering my yard
Are only the beginning

For the sake of misdirection,
I suggest we **** Keyser Soze
But he's stuck on his previous observation

'I said, 'gravity's gone bad for you, girl;
Everything 'round you's up in the air.'

'Yeah', I tell him,
*'I heard you twice the first time'

i love those
spacey rooms
where basketballs
echo like
an irregular
beating heart;

i love those
little rooms
with huge windows
and careful white
walls, that try
to make up
for narrow floorspace
with ventilated dreams;

i love those
vast rooms
with wooden floors,
and a mirror
that covers
an entire wall
along the length,
beside the
ballet bar,
and alternating
false pillars of
hollow wood
along the
lonely wall
that faces the mirror
so that music
echoes and
reverberates
to outweigh
the ghost footsteps
in pale satin
ballet shoes
that dance alone
through the night
in a resolute stupor,
occasionally peeking
through the
now-shut door,
awaiting the
gracefully grayed
shining eyes,
the off-white shawl
with tiny red
tulips like
summer theater,
and a walking stick
to waltz delicately in
at the break
of 8 o’clock tea.

i love those
cozy rooms
with an exquisite
mahogany coffee table
and a crystal swan
centerpiece,
the patterns on
the couch in a
range of shades
of coral to match
the snugly sized,
maroon, artificial
velvet cushions,
and a gray
stone fireplace
for when it snows,
a dimmed lamp
on the mantelpiece
beside the
mollified and dozing
black cat,
and the water-colour
painting on the wall
of a waterfall
with surreal
strokes of yellow,
lilac and rose,
a tiny framed
photograph of
a redheaded
young lady
with a green scarf,
her lover’s arm
around her shoulder,
their smiles, warm
enough to melt
the blowing blizzard
from the north;

i love those
overly spacious rooms
that come with
white carpets,
and white walls,
and white bedsheets,
and a brimming itinerary,
the glass window
that covers the wall
facing the miniature
open-kitchen,
a bright blue
coffee cup with
a tiny yellow
handprint rests
on the glass
center table,
and the faded
sound of pouring
rain and sleep
deprived keyboard taps,
the blankets in
the morning
smell of half-familiar
moisturizer;

i love those
smallish rooms
with a twin sized
bed in a corner
by the world map
on the wall,
the light gray
t-shirt from
the previous day’s
excursion with
uninteresting people
lies comfortably
on the chair,
a fumbling trigonometric
ratio beside the doodle
of a scratched out
name on the notebook
beside the headphones
on the floor,
an old piece of
ruled paper
sticks out from
in between the
yellowing pages
of the old dictionary,
that lies idle
amongst the
bizarrely ordered,
rewritten pages
with the ingredients
for that story,
with an old orange
crayon scribble saying
my brother
told me today
that dragons ar real,
and the dark
blue curtains
flutter only slightly
in the midsummer
night’s breeze
through the open
window, and the sound
of a far-fetched ‘perhaps’
in a psychedelic dream
that this was
the night when
the dragons
would return…

Some very good friends sat around in their basement
I think we've all been here before
The room of course was smokey and wasted
The four buddies were bored right out of their gourds

They all thought they should do something special
So they decided to build a rocket ship
Throwing a bunch of old plywood together
They then sat around, smoked some more, and planed their spacey trip

Jody spoke up first and said let's go to the moon
But they'd heard that had already been done
That's when he came up with the brightest idea
I know what!  We'll go to the sun!

Go to the sun?!  We may be high but we're not crazy!!
They replied, this ships made out of wood
That's when Jody explained his brilliant idea
Nodding like Bobble Head dolls they all understood

As Jody dug deeper into his intricate plan
All the guys seemed to like it a lot
They would go when it's dark in the middle of night
When the suns put out and it isn't so hot

Since Jody's the genius, they put him in charge
He seems to have a grasp on what's left of his brain
There were four of them but only room for two
They drew straws 'cause they were having difficulty remembering their names

The straws turned out to be the same length
Cutting them, somebody forgot
So they picked Jody as their Captain Kirk
And Jason as his sidekick Spock

Out in left field, the excitement was contagious
Jody yelled, 'To infinity and Beyond'
They knew that quote came from some famous movie
But had a memory lapse so they gave him more Bobble Head nods

At that point they realized they had no engine
Being impaired, not a one of them cared
They all went back down into the basement
And took another kind of trip without going anywhere

****,
I slipped
and
fell backwards.
Stood up on my own two feet
so as not to look awkward
but I staggered with an Obama like swagger.
I beg of you,
****, please, can we go a lil faster?
For my life expectancy
I am not the master.
I got kids and bills
legacy of a broke *******.
If I was Cancer
it'd be a disaster
cause Medicare don't take kindly to me
I owe badly.
Sadly, it's the truth
and I'ma King
and yet still get treated like
I don't have a dream!
Beams of light hit this planet
so beautiful and amazing
and yet we still take it for granted
having all these babies
without no savings.
Gotta steal and not ****
to get by lately.
Call my creditors maybe
hopin' to get a better rate
on my **** cravings.
Feel like I'm from K-Pax
stuck like Kevin Spacey.
Hate me if you want.
I don't give a ****!
You can live my life
I'll take yours and run a muck!
Dear Abby,
please don't confuse this
I really don't wanna do this
suicidal thoughts are useless.
Proved foolish
clueless is what I am
to sucka's actin' dufus!
Radio Raheim,
I know he rocked two fist.
My Mama could really give two *****.
I'm too ******!
Abused by a ****
she ain't
taken no ****!
She too ruthless.
You can call her Brutus.
If I'm taken too long
then go to another booth den (then)!
Two pens,
write with both hands.
Call me Ambidex-trian. (Ambidexterity)
If you Mexican
maybe you can request again.
Send me back from Iran
holdin' two cans.
Livin' on the streets
beggin' like po man.
Served this country
and can't get a helping hand.
Take a stand!
Remember when we used to believe in
Unite We Stand?
Yeah right!
What a joke we plan!
When words spoken to those just a slogan.
Big ups to Joe Rogan!
Knockin' *****'s out
wit' one blow man.
These words I deliver
like the local post man.
So-cam
I mean So-com
That's my sons favorite game...

Broken, life seeping.
Gutsy and lawless:
Gunpoint switchblade
Only seeing, never sleeping.

Groan and crawl, muck and mud
Run and ****. Push my luck, down over.
Over and over again. Head over heels
Brain splatter banana peels.

Spacey air, musty sight.
Cold nights in the cold earth.
Bent and spent, came and went.
Statement of your rebirth.

Voices drowning down salt streams.
Craters on Retna Moon; green beams.
Too many visitors. No hesitation.
Sleeping beauty, my proclamation.

know you see me

semper dreamy

slip-ping on - and - off

in the spacey place

almost convinced , (was it?)

“empire free me ,

soldiers see me   ,

envious armies are after me

because broken me is all they see

i patch my self invisibly --”

so in retreat i lay my self,

an icon to vanity and decay-

soon enough i know the soldiers may

hunt, may find, may trap, may bind

never right - NEVER WRITE ,

always blind

inside my rotten mind ,

(oh it was) it was not -

naught but tongue twists and brain rot

easy enough to force, forget

the pleasantness of title : Pet -

was it, will it, could I  build it ?

it never will -

it never was -

a different thought ,

for beggars sought

to free them from their cups and coins -

to seek release from their ***** -

along the railroad tracks out back

we find the air is acrid, black

and children polish stones for sale

for some enormous, bloated whale

that cracks the whip but bears a treat --

I have Orders I must meet .

Blitzin and sittin. I'm fixin on doin it in.
I
grin. I sin. I'm ****** spinnin track verses
Round house Shreq four
Poe lease store.
a ***** was like " yo.. do me".   And I'm like "uhhh..
No"

****** friends like you do
second best like you do
with your chest
brand new. Sticky bamboo.
Biggie bad panda. Panthers
up in the trees. Sticken up for the breeze
It’s a reason to be.

Bees. Bark on the trees. Back on your knees.
Back up the beat. pack up the treats.Sack up
and Beg me please
Ashamed, I'm
aimlessly aiming. Amazing. I'm feeling. A bit condescending
You like what you see?  well you might be a freak, and you
might want to seek out
a new conversation.
leads to persuasion.
Invasion of ants.
Dance Lance Vance
Rant can't pant like a dog...

No.
I break up into pieces. Piece it together
and whether or not
you spot the spot.
admit you're not a lot
yeah
your not that spacey boy astronaut.  
an anomaly
anonymously
leaking elixir
fixity fixer. Mr. mix **** salad  tell me What did you say?
That’s what I thought

mad women
a map of the bad criminals
zappin  a fat cinnamon
glass of that old pinnacle
****

a bit bare
with the wrath of a bear scaring
a dastardly dog carrying
amethyst
conglomerated

rated R, bar none
acupuncturing
gun smoke
a melatonin, ****, and a biscuit a piece

PC piper
cold cuts off a limb with a knife
fat cashing master bait
tackle, and jelly to bite

preserving space jam
hat with a jacket to match
tacked up photos of Bruce Lee
and Bruce Wayne

Wayne manor
I'd rather explain
rather be happy to pay
Dad for a crappier day.
I'm fixed soaking tooth aches
in bisquick and **** top
dollar for your  ****-talking hash tags
salad tossing apparatus

armature on a radical man grinning
as actual as furniture
wrappin a broke limb
in factory. smoke fillin in
***** and dope denim men

necessary feminist hair

I’m not  prepared for a cob salad
sort of like a bad
hairdo. A new
piece
to the paper blue noise
in a focal view

high-rise
cellophane shoes
****** do don't

don't be a ****** man
scaring kids
serenading scarecrows

sacrifice satin like
ice
nice
maybe I can make a mean price
bright
I can be content
I can be a sunny side egg
dent on an awful guys Bentley
friendly

I can shoot ****
with the bad boys
sad boys
corduroy jeans  
and an opal headed ring
See?
I can make tea and teeth
and *** in my moms bed
dead to the world
I'm a girl
no I'm not
I’m
looking for
***** up at the scene of the crime
Ive got
sixteen dollars and a pile of dimes

up in my head
ache up in my
head like a weathered old *****
I've got
super college knowledge
I apologize

Mixed up. looking for causes
cause it saws
it claws it paws at my
internal thoughts
and it aught to be critical
Literal lists of fits and fists
cynical. physically
ready to be open
I'm hoping
I can be
anything
but everything that I see
is everything but anything

I'm rendering a catchphrase
two one two
your boys are blue
scratch that
toys and attitudes

a Malibu Ken doll
bent on Adderall
and anyhow
I meant to vent
I'm not spent
I'm just saying

a mystical collaboration
in a nation of amazing amateurs
enamel on the alley chairs

open
flies up
ties for guys
and I'm
coping
exchange these
lies for lies in this
city-like town-like space
like wow like
How the heck are ya  mon? It's football now
no  it's

Nerf
or  nothin
It's a bagel shaped muffin
It's a ladle worth touchin if you think its worth ****** with

thick
like an out of body
hand to god
I manned up
on a melancholy
ample sod

I manned up

A knock at your door
is it not
what your looking for?
looking for
skeleton skin cells

innocence
settin up
basement call down
I'm all out of instinct
pigs stink
sippin up
drinks and

trippin on
life and words
and birds fly
in the most high
mostly

I could think
things like
open toad shoes
and open frogs too
and I'm cookin up stew
Like a mad man
****

My outwards view, though as open
And strange as my heart, is hazy
Decisions, made in the moment are a
Testament to my mind and self; always crazy
Though I can most certainly be studious
I'm far more inclined to be lazy
You bought me roses? Thanks but,
You should know I'd prefer a daisy
I act so nice and neat, cute ain't it?
But my taste in jokes? A touch of ****
And as for my state of being, I'm rarely focused
I'm more often drifting, dreaming, spacey

Precipice mountain fondled the fond of fondling fountain spouting love-crusssst.

I bob this bobble-headed dead-set-on-deafening those who will or would but cannot and could not stop my pupil-dark-mind-lark sent out and over that previously spoken-of precipice of a mountain so that, and, hereby, I fly continuously into space-spacey places of radiating-planetary-beauty yet you try with futility to reach me so you never will, I am above you.

I win.

Mediocracy...
these words I write
governed by a
standstill, at-war democracy
that's got me medio-crazy,
executively lazy
judgmentally hazy,
and lawfully spacey,
running on as their own prisoner-of-war escapees
in search of freedom from the ordinary
and overly, extraordinarily
conservative binds
that constrict the construction
of these hardly courtly,
yet ordered lines.

i'm spacey i'm astral out of my body
out of my mind unable to conn
ect to this world and it's sys
tems begging the cosmos
to restore within me a fir
e for life a hunger for other hu
man beings i often wonder abo
ut the urge to touch some
one tenderly or my lack thereof
i am unable to connect to this
world and it's systems it's worth
less paper everyone mani
festing their biological agen
das when i'm not looking mine
leaks out of my pores like sweat
i can't help but see through th
eir motive charged words but
you have potential i want your
soul not your flesh i want to vib
rate in an alternate reality with
you i want to die and be reborn
with you i wanna chew a hole
through the wall of the ameri
can psychosis rat race for
you i am awake shak
ing your body i am
unable to connect
to this world
and it's
systems

My aunt is 40 years old and she was coloring
with crayons on the bathroom floor after a bad spell.
We kept them in the cabinet under the sink
so she could pull them out to calm her down,
or pull her out,
of the dream she was having over glazed eyes that weren't sleeping.
She would talk to us about silly things
that happened to her or how she met
her husband after the war in his pretty,
neat, and navy blue military jacket.

She really met my uncle
on the train to Chicago in 1977,
but we don't tell her that because it doesn't make a difference
and it won't make her feel any better.
The truth never really does that
I've learned.

That's the thing about the rest of your life.
When you're sixteen and beautiful with
a cute brown bob and eyes to match
you think you can do anything
and when you picture
the rest of your life it doesn't include
lying in a bath robe talking to your niece
about something you never did or never had
with spit on your chin and hands that need washed
coloring a picture in a book meant for kids.

You never thought you'd be stuck
being a kid
sometimes.
Out of control,
shaky,
twisted
and a little bit beautiful
through things.
You never thought you'd be missing some parts,
or you'd be spacey
or empty
in bad, bad moments like this.

But that's how it is and that's how it was
for my aunt as she tried to formulate her thoughts
into something she was dying and dying to tell me.

I didn't know what she wanted or how to
fix
all the things I didn't quite understand were happening.
All I know is that she
is a child
and children need attention, to be played with, and to be loved.
So I picked up a crayon and starting coloring
around the edges she had missed
trying to fill her in.