insider

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