Every morning these pills march down my throat,
whispering promises of days when I will
wake up when my alarm clock squawks
and appreciate
mediocre vocal jazz.
My wallpaper is made of blueprints of half finished inventions
My carpeting is sawdust and dirty socks and empty Coca Cola cans
My shelves are bare, the Arthur C, Clark and Dante have wandered off
Frank Herbert lies under a stack of year old homework.
Who gave me a drivers license and a checking account?
I am a child with mud on my wrists,
who never learned to tie his tennis shoes.
This is my birthright, a handshake and a pot of stew
In the bar and grill I've never been to,
the freckled girl with the raven hair and tattoos on her chest asked if I was hitting on her because
I think she was interesting or
I want to have sex with her.
Yes, I replied,
throwing back a shot of imaginary whisky to take the edge off this emotion pornography looping in my gray matter.
Guttural harmonies from my chest, reciting forgotten chants from an ancient right
My humanity fell with Troy. My soul sank with Atlantis.
A titanic pitted gear shifts in the clockwork of eternity.
A second passes in a waiting room.
Yesterday the cars seemed to drag light behind
them as I was waiting at the cross walk
unsure of how to queue myself with the other waiters.
and I was so lost in my placement that I didn't notice the lights had changed
until a severed orange hand told me to stay where I was.
These
Moments Force Distance
between the mirror and minds eye.
The tongue will not move in praise today.
I used up all my hope in the ski-ball arcade
I read the words but the sentences do
not curdle
The digits make their rounds
and I wake up yesterday
to the same lead made bed,
the same ant pills,
the same cut-time brain
and 3/4 heart.
