blue shock / vanilla coke )( slurpee (therapy)
slow down the cigarette – puff artistic’lly
the backs packed contain books stacked ergo nomic’lly
(aqua pair of blue briefs slice thighs like a knife)
I stumble upon a great epiphany
it's me that is the soul author of this wretched life

the key fits the wagon as it always did before
my nubs stab the presets. Hungry for the floor,
my feet become the peddler, for alms they will implore
to blast past the strange police, the cliché brigade,
of handcuffed, three billy gruff’s still fat from the chore
each makes light of the choices I have made

a rush to write the words - the journey has them found
a wish to change the channeling before the sun is down
I want to sleep (but damn the wheels must spin around)
The static interferes - sometimes, although, it’s plain
Nothing short of torment - the style is of my crown
Master pieces fragmented - passive voices slain.

The key fits the front door lock as it always must again
The universe (ity) of dad – classes now begin
the a(cad)emia on my shoes - washed away as sin
As I pour the Dr. Seuss’s out, Silvertein, and Grimm
I whisper in the sleeping ears the path to “chinny chin”
Another night persuades me, here, to always think of them

In the quiet hour, a chopped report is heard
just my lonely thoughts getting buried into words