It's Over, Finally

I broke my right arm

when I fell off a flying

saucer.  The doctor took

off my cast and dumped

me in a pool of warm, soft

lotion.  I later learned we

call it water.  I took

navigation classes until I

turned five, then I joined a

team of swimmers who

navigated quicker than fast

forward up and down in the

pool divided into aisles.  I later

learned swimmers called them

lanes.  I kicked and pulled up

and down those lanes I bet

enough length to go to

California, and yes, I took a

flight to race in California,

So as I see it, I visited there twice.

Nothing obeyed me like water,

I cupped it in my hand, pushed it

under my body and flipped my

hand out of the water at my hip

thirteen times a lap.  Nothing

ever felt as predictable as that.

Last time I swam, the water numbed

my lower body due to its mountain

source, and my asthma prevented me

from actually swimming. Walking my

fat ass from the lake to my towel on

the beach convinced me to never

swim again.  Remind

me to throw away my medals and

trophies.  

(Cognitive) OCD

You’re cheating on me.

No Paige, I’m not.

But, that text message,

she wants to meet you.

Paige, my buddy gave

her my number as a joke.

I have no interest in her.

Okay Sean, text that to her.

If it will make you feel better.

Text: I already have a girlfriend.

You’re cheating on me still.

No Paige, I’m not.

But your text message,

It could be just for show.

It’s not Paige.

How do I know?

Can you call the girl now?

Paige, why? I just texted her.

To prove to me that

you’re not cheating Sean.

Fine, Paige. That’s it though.

Phone call: Hey, it’s Sean,

Yes, I just texted you, no

I haven’t changed my mind,

Please, just don’t text me

again, I have a girlfriend.

Yes, I know, thanks, bye.

Okay Paige, are you satisfied?

You still could be cheating on me.

What the fuck Paige, No I’m not!

How do I know you talked to the

girl who texted you on the phone?

Who the hell else would it be Paige?

Your buddy, who set you up in the

first place.

I called her Paige.

Well, let me call her and ask Sean.

I draw the line at certified, Paige.

What do you mean Sean?

So you are cheating on me asshole!

Date Night

Come lady divine lay

with me in the slums of

Detroit, to dine on dead

rat and desert on dumpster

cheesecake.  As your golden

tresses drag behind us, instead

of TV, let’s go to a shooting

gallery and watch dope fiends

juggle dice by shooting up

junk in their arms.  Next, our

date continues on the top

floor of a parking garage.

The lights of Detroit look like

pinpoints, the slums reach

out far into the distance. 

We begin to slow dance,

our pulse slows, our limbs

grow cold.  We prefer

this.  The dance slows,

we kiss, your tresses look

black from the streets now.

A car’s head light’s shine

upon us as we fall to the

concrete.  The driver mistakes

us for speed bumps, only in

the slums of Detroit.  

    

Fried

I’m nuts, framed by cuckoo a

bird.  They put a cuckoo clock

inside my forehead, so every

hour a bird pops out of my worry

lines, scares the shit out of my cat,

and reminds me of my amended

mental status.  It’s terrible to have

been sane, no pane, when everyone

sees that you’re not sick, but swell. Now

with this clock inside my forehead and

a beak courtesy of beak surgeons, I

look disturbed. Crazy, I feel more human

then ever before, besides are not the

bastards who changed my appearance

not the sick ones?  Shouldn’t someone

shrink their twisted noggins? I learned

to live with my idiosyncrasies.  But I scare

the shit out of the “people” who made me

this way.  Cuckoo! Cuckoo!

Back Walking

I saw his back, walking away.  Hobbling down the icy stairs, kicking the salt about as his feet slid, barely scraping the pavement.  A brown knit cap covered his head, pulled down so low about his ears covering the lobes.  His jowels, jutting out are all I could make of his chin.  He wore a tattered and old black leather coat, now more gray than black, and drooping faded blue jeans.  His sneakers had to be 15 years young, if not more... wrinkled and worn, laces loose. They scraped the sidewalk crunching the salt and spraying it and the melting ice about.  His breath almost froze as he hobbled along, keys in his left hand, paper rolled into his right.  Damn he looks cold.  Damn I'm cold.  This is what cold looks like walking away...  a demon, shuffling along, quiet, reserved, blending into the world.... frigid.

Pierce

I can't look away
My soul is locked
onto your eyes

Pools of crystal
and green
Soothe my pain
and cool my heart

Your essence
has pierced
my beign
and enriched me

Your eyes
have pierced
my soul.

This one is recent.  9/9/2010

Visit me at Discrete Beauty

Different

I’m driving on aloe roads

twisting and turning,

windows agar, cool sweet

green density the sun emits

as I hang my left leg out

the driver’s seat window.

A screaming stream below

a groaning cliff, sends shivers

down my plastic spine.

The fearful car pines for

paved roads, but instead

a chocolate hail storm

begins.  I withdraw my

foot from the window

to sit straight up inside

the car.  I close the windows,

and turn on the razors I use

in place of windshield wipers.

Shaved chocolate looks

so pathetic right now.  Night

comes from somewhere ahead,

so I beam, and continue my

trip to party at a giant cupcake

mansion with a pink icing roof.

Perhaps

I think I am

coasting

on a shined glass horse.

Downwards, to break/

the silence

of a candy rainbow bliss.

Tears drip from my ducts as

the glass hits the floored

lollipop suckers-

Chaos bits of red, orange

yellow, green, blue and

purple glass rain down-

A veritable Utopia.