i love bacon on foggy sundays
talking about past “friends”
reliving vivisection nightmares
and discussing English language.
of course, in a room full of
nametags and coffee and questions;
we are all teachers together,
except i hold my head
and wait for my lenses to change colors.
of course, came in late
and i don’t believe in
your political beliefs
too busy haggling with customer service
finding use where their is none.
she rubbed her inner thighs.
the sun was out though.
telling people what i think-thought-theory
is a litmus test for your sanity;
without commanding a sharp group
and/or their thoughts simultaneously.
the clock didn’t have numbers.
touch fingertips when you’ve found a partner.
would rather tell google to play
“hold on for one more day”
than subscribe to what is
imagined outside of the bubble; i can see too.
i will eat the whole pig and its face too.
i really don’t care when it comes to food.
a survivalist eats it cold.
Texas Chainsaw Massacre meets Walker Texas Ranger.
and i love sundays and bacon
and waking up not from surgery
or extremely hung-over and broke
and having my wife and son
right here next to me.
i like getting paid.
i didn’t waste last night at a bar
trying to tell my “friends”
i believed in what they thought
so they could like me again
when i don’t.
would rather make enough money to sleep on,
would rather. and you can
find me with bacon and without.
you can find me smiling, ready.
i love bacon on foggy sundays
one time yesterday between taxes and a phone conversation with my wife about ear infections and successful weekends i witnessed a state sponsored group hanging signs against state sponsored things, i thought Soros and let me take a picture of the palisades and pillars which they circumvent, let me rest easy in their pulped trees and how the stapler to this meaningful act makes its clack, let me, let me, let me think about external costs and how no one reads beyond what they think is their oh-so good intention. thankfully i had a crystal signal and positive thoughts; heard more about it when my colleague picked up that neon green trash and let them have it again too. i am glad for relation, and humor. it was good. they were three, they were shortsighted, they were talking very big about something they read the headline to but forgot the paragraphs after, i was better for viewing and thinking and sauntering in circles on the mall. ideologies and group think and fliers and signs and sponsors behind them, waiting between the lines, but their audience has no idea, just do, do, react.
cut with meaning of
three hundred million heads
over a spider web cache:
How will I think for myself?
peering out of
there are wet cars
there are trees
and what does
she says over the phone
for a reason,
and today is
sort of part
it was an
email, an animated
and then a wait for
and then another email.
to meet you,
my handlers said,
so what do you do?
you walk up and meet them.
you tell them about you.
she said over the phone that
things happen for a reason,
as those sharp butterflies
in the stomach,
as rigid daily routine.
now here i sit
half a view seeing
it all, half a mind
for breakfast and
nausea, half awake
and sitting in half
a morning gone.
everything happens for a reason.
the reason is: I don’t know…
i am certain it will though.
i am not sure how long.
it’s 8:45 in the morning
i lie there, still,
in bed as our
cat claws the sides
of the mattress
to bare insides.
my love walks
nude in oils
and a black
loosely hung robe
and then we roll in
the painted sheets–
the day went.
again alone i lie.
exactly knowing & accurate
judgement are as frequent
as authenticity in the bar
lights & sidewalks of uptown.
“If you can’t please yourself, who can?” -Ma
In the morning I start planning,
by the time I am done it is mid-afternoon.
I find that I have all things figured out,
in finding that happiness is without.
When I have specific plans completed,
seen through to fruition, I can only hope for one thing:
that I still feel as good as I do when I just open my eyes,
young, in love, and surrounded by it-
when I just walk outside—lost and uncaring,
when I do the first thing that comes to mind, even today,
now, to escape. I hope to still feel as good as I do right now,
with no excess in what I have about me, and there, no excuses,
because none of those institutions will change anything, ever.
Not one. They only complicate and muck up straightforward.
Fuck plans. It is how you feel when you feel you in the end.
I hope to feel as good as I do when I wake up
in the morning, before I start planning.