Thursday, April 11, 2013


I'm happy inside
all of the time
it's just that intermediate layer of me
the sweet-steak layer they call it
you gotta believe me
I'm telling you, I'm calling you

there are ways to do things
to get things done
but they don't just pop up
like love bouquets made of
colored, flavored popcorn
they crush you under the weight
of an armored vehicle
straight from the sidelines
of a major motion picture

oh, darling, darling
I'm falling for the latest intrigue
posted only seconds ago
from a locale more desirable—
much more desirable—
than where we are now
the belly of a beast unknown to most
a tennis shoe called sneaker
the snare punching back and forth and forth

the high hat of it

I'm happy inside
when the lights are fantasies
dreams barely remembered
when first waking
in the dark of near nighttime
there were crickets there are crickets
making soft rhythmic noises
but that damned middle layer
with its sudden sinking feelings
the doubts fueled by
sick hungers
the unfillable cavities
no, but I'm happy
inside them
deep down inside them

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