Untitled (about some breakup)

i've had enough of your cereal-box wisdom
and the long tortured monologues
practiced over ice ages
and escaping into the fog.

it's about time for another
blame my mother or whoever's on the sidewalk
shave your crosshairs and see what else comes up.

and you know, and i know, as much as i tell you
that everything has its spontaneous script
and you're reading yours upside down.

it's a piece of something
stuck between your teeth
that i'm not in charge of picking out anymore.
it's the toothpick that i send you in the mail.

it was a disappointment,
disappointed you, disappointed me
and it should never be that black and white.

there are too many witnesses to call
to make it any easier
perhaps i should just drop it entirely.
perhaps i should have years ago.

Glitter, pasted on.

Puppies terrorize the trash
Fireflies tracing expletives
In splendor, quicksand honey
Mine carts drift by.

Puppies terrorize the trash
Fireflies tracing expletives
In splendor, quicksand honey
Mine carts drift by.

Fanning flames and relatives
Drinking lemonade and rye
Philosophizing all around the crowd
And spilling over.

Double-dosed and proud
Of being loud at the bus stop
Bronzing a 3-leaf clover
Babysitting the punch bowl.

A better plant could bless the crop
Complicating origami.
The parking lot is already full
Flying in spirals and landing on the floor.

Eating medieval salami
Counting your Canadian money
Beaming behind polka-dot doors
You're decadent, and searching for the cash.

Brittle, and white too.

porcelain rabbits that turn into something
eyes that are incompatible with

last year’s delightful splash in the waters
of daylight
I want them all to go away
light whispering white plastic eyes unreflective
like angels white
only not quite
as etiquette-driven
they sparkle in darkness to keep them alone
and radiate to make them feel a bit better
they’ve plastic-wrapped everything, nothing gets dirty
nothing that nobody cared about ever
sparkling white plastic rabbit
like royalty,
void.

Puddle of muskrat

a puddle of muskrat
in fine china
setting standards by which
although we bitch about them frequently,
we happily abide.

waiting for their ride
outside the toolshed
motion sensors gone berserk and blink
randomly upon it
and at the light of dawn it
at random blinks berserk
blink.
blink.
oh so random!

the fandom, we dream to imagine
could consume one
like stepping into an ocean-deep puddle of muskrat
as if it were as shallow as it looks.

and, as we looked
in anticipation upon
the fine china rodent pond
a drop from whoknowswhere
came
but after it was gone it
brought a couple more along
and the rain fell all over all of us too.

reigning high from china so fine
in the rain, in the puddles of mud
within minutes of unmeasured time
we fell away
awash among broken bits of very fine china
engulfed in a puddle of muskrat.

Tacky cafes are everywhere.

i reached across the table
as if stretching.
as if.

the cafe felt like sunshine;
transparent
cancerous
a plethora of miles away.

he was like the sun in different ways,
but also distant.

and if he was like the sun, i would be the moon:
pale
horrendous complexion
my light not my own but only a reflection of his
so rarely would we line up properly and
if we were to actually meet, it could prove
either fatal or catastrophic
or both.

i stretched across the table
as if reaching
and snapped the bill away from him.

this cafe is trying too hard.

the baked goods are too expensive
and the uppercase letters are too far away,
but i appreciate the effort
in an effort to pad my karma

we both laugh, a good chance to look down
looking forward for too long
can seem too,
well,
forward.

Secret Target

i can kneel here for as long as you need me
so go ahead and take your time.

this is all for you
all because of you
because you deserve a break, right?
every break is catered by somebody.
while you blink, in slow-motion ecstacy
i'll shift on splintered knees
it's such a downer to see someone else suffer, right?

"it's been tough for you, let me get that",
as i snatch an errant crumb in mid-flight
from your chin to the floor

i'll add another pipe to my dream
or maybe just a half-pipe, right?
after all, my break isn't coming up for quite some time
so i'll make do until the next shift.

nf#3

bitter blue skies
snapping in protest
make me want to pawn my locket
i don't know if the clouds will ever come home
to yawn and swallow me
and blur all the black and white edges
left in your silvery wake
i'll take it and run, take it and run to the...
mall. i'll slum in utter invisibility
a bit more malignant with every puff
of you, tainting my blood
it's so inconvenient
i open my mouth and your phrases squeak out
from some misconnected hive mind.
i'd dive into the cosmos and float on your lies
pass you an unsuspecting drink
but the grinning clement weather pretends not to see
having seen a million yous and is.
our story isn't written in the stars,
rather etched into the ocean floor
by blind fish running into each other
and blaming evolution.
let's brush away the rust
and save our last dance for the next rainstorm.