I practically ran
from your shimmering emerald eyes
that looked wild in the twilight
to give my cats food
and pick up their shimmering poo
that quietly hardened under a stair light
I practically ran
from your shimmering emerald eyes
that looked wild in the twilight
to give my cats food
and pick up their shimmering poo
that quietly hardened under a stair light
We all pass
The homeless men that cops chide
That the Union Guys learn to hate too
And the Subterranean Queen who gives cheap favors
For some sad lonely dudes
But a slow 180 to freedom
From dark moon tar
Will bring meadows soaked in sun
Nimbus sprinkled skies
And the easy repose of an hour bus ride
It’s a dirge,
for shot down kids in the street
A fragile ego on a Friday
Who says: “If you don’t
punch him,
you’re weak.”
It’s Rosy cheeks
Cross hatch sweaters
Irish dinosaurs slowly sighing
and saying “hmph”
It’s the life blood surging through your cancer ravaged broken down death blood body
And a whole body naïve kiss
at a repass
It’s pretension in the color of red
It’s vom in the shade of black
It’s acceptance in dark scarlet rooms
It’s success with an olive
Sexy
Hollywood star
C list
D list
Extra
Halfway House
Obituary
Then
the birth of a teenage star
with trusting parents.
parents that don’t care
It’s dollars in carbonation
And pension down the drain
hard work rewarded by temporary soft silk against sad puppy-eyed pores
It’s a warm chest
While cheating on your wife
after swallowing the worm
and feeling like a man
It’s Adult hands being kid hands
So they forget boundaries
Or build thoroughfares
with no lights
Traversing comfort
Through the labyrinth
Of a one night person
And
the frames blur
While the cinematographer
employs dutch angles
and goes wild
Digesting the self
Alcohol is an invisible person
Liberated from
the chains of reality
Imprisoned in
translucent shots
Draw
more drawings
and
Paint
more paintings
Of farts on
Fire
And massive babies
giving birth to tiny adults
Spindly Blue Men licking their own asses
Women Skydiving
with babies attached to umbilical cords
That are also skydiving
in spread eagle form
Wearing helmets
and parachutes
donning faces that fight the wind
Because
When we look at them on canvas
We can’t help but laugh
Being 8th grade fuck boys
Which we still are
hiding in bags of Cheetos
that lie below beards
and Cheetos stained wine glasses