blastedgoat

I am sitting on a spearmint green metal folding chair in front of my nearly new computer.
I have no couch, in its place there is a bed, there is no bed in the bedroom, we sleep in the living room.
Do you like my logic? I watch food network before falling asleep, this produces lucid dreams.
My fiance would like to slice my fingers off so I can’t sleepily flip through channels not paying attention to what’s on
or worse, watching the t.v. guide channel from dawn to dusk…

In the morning before the alarm buzzes I have been up several times
waiting, watching, resetting.

When we finally wake my fiance grabs the remote and hides it…
I swear he hides it, I can never find it…

Vomit, unintelligible telephone conversations.
You may have tried to change everything
but I know, behind oversized sunglasses,
your eyes are brown. You take them off
from time to time to remind me briefly
how we used to believe in magic.
You wash your face in a marble sink
a gravestone. Toothpaste epitaphs
are grim, a crooked smile in the mirror.

A drowsy twenty-something curled
on a couch, complete with grey striped
cat. Pillow purrs unconcerned with setting
or forgetting Ronco Rotisseries,™ loading
magic bullets or hiding evidence under
the bed in amazing, space-saving bags.

I will be controlled no longer by those
who don’t practice what they preach.
Those who turn their noses toward
the heavens searching among clouds
as I bend, before god, a worm contaminated.

I ask forgiveness.
Let go of past lives.

Hate to believe dreams have no chance in this world.
But this is only partly true, far worse off are those who
have lost the ability to dream. So cruel. No hope for
today. All stock in what happens after the thud.

Soldier put down the sword, don’t use the word
as weapon, but a tool to tame the demons raging
in your own eye. You still say I must believe as you?
That there is no other way? No difference between
what you teach and how things are?

I unscrew the top of strawberry lip gloss,
waving the wand over pink lips.
She slips the rubber band from her wrist
gathering unruly hair into a ponytail.
I follow on a narrow sidewalk.

new version:
Technicolor eyelashes drip,
elfish ears are pink under a hot
and heavy sun. Ruby beads
stain a t-shirt, are covered by
nervous laughter. We make
conversation on a street dotted
by lengths of chain-link fence, past
overgrown yards with barking dogs.

————————————-

old version:
Eyelashes drip Technicolor tears,
Elfish ears turn pink under a hot
and heavy sun. A drop of ruby
red stains a t-shirt, covered
by nervous laughter. Toenails
sparkle in blinding sunlight.
We make conversation strolling
down a street dotted with lengths
of chain-link fence, past overgrown
yards and barking dogs.

————————————-
which version do you like better?

A grey sky opened its mouth to yawn a small careless child ran the stop sign a red car collided with the body hurling it towards the lawn.

Oh how do you know what happens when we die?
Brains bubble & cool
on pavement. Mind jerks stretching out—
hardening like a worm.

I just can’t be dreaming
as I walk each morning.

Something about hearing
music when headphones are
forgotten. La de da de de,
La de da de da…

I tip-toe across the trash-strewn spine
of frozen stream. Iron railings keep sleepy creatures
from slipping. Drums keep a–pounding rhyth–m
to the brain… A car whishes past

Speeding down a highway,
fingers digg into dashboards.
Pedals dent floorboards as tiny
fists pound nails against veins.

Hair mingles with breath, elbows strike
pornographic poses, bodies become

the entire horizon…

the sun…

illuminates from far away,
a burning orb that blinds

Inhibition, an outstretched hand recoils,
dragging itself back to a dusty pocket.

Reality, only in the mind.

A burnt tongue refuses to speak of it,
can barely cry “good morning.”

The bathroom sink’s clogged with hair and toothpaste. I watch cooking shows late at night. Eggs always stick to non-stick pans. I soak in a caffeine buzz on the matress. I drool at meaningless possessions, a square flashcube hums before a ball rolls around the room and closes. Strange metallic sand. Salty afternoon with a cool orange sun, children laughing, popsicles dripping down exposed spines. I ride my bike at night, swerving down alleys…darting across busy highways. Little brothers scream down hallways. In dreams, children roam in gangs, sporting milk mustaches.

In the AM— I roll over to see hair standing on end, reflected in the black clock face that grins, bombarding reddened eyeballs
with blaring archaic cryptograms that buzz, begging to be cracked like an egg on the counter, a fly in a sleepy irritated ear.