shifting bowels on the move; noble heart
that I improve, never going back there
luck-luck that I behoove, here at the start
of my journey—what, i ask, does he care?
getting drunk on Dr. Pepper, left over
dopamine weaving in and out of my lane
playing Hank Williams—he’s not sober
i look on, therefore, in total disdain
writing poetry to get my mind right—
feeling an edge, oh, my adrenaline!
i react, don’t i? it’s the reason we fight
i find you hiding in the washing machine
Sprung a leak, captain, waking back up
a little at a time; get along as best you can
or go back on the pill that lived in your cup
having a conversation with the wee man
telling me to paint—why give a damn?
go forth Alexander, to your fate—
i’m just saying you could spare a gram
time’s up! i hope we’re not too late
to make the decision that we escape
working from indefinite identities
you can’t, for love, live in bad shape
spare me a stroke and His monstrosities
heading, do tell, to the end of the earth
you’re here, but, for me, you’re the other side,
telling us, openly, what you are worth
as if you thought, at some point, we’d confide
and skip out on telepathy by the fire,
carbonation living in my throat—forgot
what this felt like—the energy i require
to keep myself correct—on the dot
Go down, Moses, bigfoot’s a-stream
writing poetry forever, keeps me clean
my love for Cortez—the gambit i deem
my man’s too funny his woman’s mean
she’ll cheat before the clothes are dry
hung out, for now, on the washing line
no more Dr. Pepper: you can ask me why
my one true love will never be mine
living far, far ahead of this our time
my outer world doesn’t always align
you can’t help how you feel; read my rhyme
I’ve seen enough, dear heart, I saw the sign
pointing to the rocky, red pine lake path
killed by a cougar? you do the work
i’ll sit back and focus, for now, on the math
taking exception before going beserk