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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