I live
my life like a pinball game:
Radical!
over a sheet of glass, and
for the token
loophole in the corner,
which may or may not
be a fat kid.
I
utilize foraged goods to make change.
I
purchase time in dimebags
use the
backstock for reservation
bend the
framework of waiting in line
so I’m
prepped to slam the pegs from any angle.
But I pay
to watch a ball fall through.
Because “any” isn’t “all”
it’s “ONE”
to finesse that connection
within rigid walls
of mechanical obsession.
Like
catching your reflection
in a bubble,
iridescent
and it
busts on your form,
too
strict for floating bonds to withstand.
pop.
when
strawberries broke
out in hivemind
vaccinations and glitterbombs
could heal the world,
momentarily.
Quickest
way to shift perspective?
Throw
some glitter on it.
Seems to
be more effective
than facepunch
or thigh slice.
Will run
more tests.
Cynicism
levels have spiked
in humorous spite.
Still
plateaued over at
yonder puzzle
though . . .
You are searching
raising
my bottom lip over
back of
head and come
up with
“umbrella”?
fuck it,
I’ll ride the rain.
waste
not, wanting you.
Baby,
our love is a pizza magnet!
configured of two lukewarm calzones
and a throne, upon which
it appears neither
Thug Queen nor
King Jesus could
rule alone.
Played
and puffed, Sun
ups the
ante, but
broke the bluff
somewhere
between bums in the night,
between
asphalt, wall and dumpster
between
the city itself
and
within every wadded napkin
reverberates sidewalk music lost
somewhere
in translation
from
bricks to mortar.
Should I be worried about you?
Not in
Boulder, nope.
89%
bleached of even a glance at the world’s pain.
And yet
here we are.
There is
a ringing in everything,
maddening
rot
poking
out every chord
lopsides,
and every child
leaves
bemused,
fingering
in pockets
torn
receipts.
But I
only shiver among
constellations, under
Only
freeze for a word,
and even
then
only for the
portion of a
pivot.
Because
when Michael Jackson turns
the
world in a remix,
Be-bop-o-phobia
will finally comprehend
the spiritual significance
of porridge and
peas.
and too
hot will be the new just right.
and the
outliers will be
more like valence electrons
and less like dryer lint.
Right now,
we are
the extra bits
picked
up and
plucked
off, lumped
together, called
somethingcutelikeabunny
and tossed out.
But we
are the accidental
organizers of chaos.
We loop
around,
trade places,
bargain spots in line
and burn through inspiration
like foodstamps
and
ganja.
We form functional
bonds
in patterns of
figure eights and hopscotch
through scatter and scram,
self-editing stacks up
and over like
cheap liquor
tossed back
behind tongue and throat.
extra coat
to pretend we’ve
escaped the
cold.
The
wretched wind
slams
debris
into air
blocks
at such
high velocities that
they
never leave.
As long
as we keep
smashing our direction into one another
bridging purpose
will
keep us together.
Only no one goes anywhere.
Overheard
a longshot laughing
turned
out to be a close call.
Still, I
don’t move.
I stand
as witness
to
Andrew’s Ether evaporating
and
following fall.
I
am the genius on the wall.
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