Funnel Cakes

​Once the subject of best-selling stories and songs and soliloquies
have I delayered into funnel
cakes on your face like a haphazard makeup job
and yet I smile when the onion layers,
settings in rings, looking like basketballs,
give me permission to scrutinize, but is it
liberating, or scientific?

I speak the word with such disgust but it
is an inevitable piece of my nature,
whispering to me that only the fittest will survive
because Darwin told me it was natural

Swish, swish,
here goes nothing. But oh! Mind leaping from its seat
like a zealous child
(there is potential here)
and though my cards my fingers grip near,
tell me everything and nothing and
do everything and nothing and
charm the Ego needing nourishment

Oh what fun,
rewatching my own reruns
and restudying my own refunds
and telling myself I'm gripping the joystick
and Kirk is letting me drive
and I am the captain of my own mind
and yet here I lie, unable to unwind

I want to know -
"Is it beautiful/exciting/humble/impressive/relatable/babyface/vixen/"
...what did they say we should be?
Eh, forgotten in the threads.

No, no. Reassure thyself and keep on
waltzing down your own yellow brick road,
and with that dog in your basket, keep picturing
10s across the board
(was that okay?)

A Hug From Mercury

​How deeply do you feel unloved
when the torrents outside are knocking,
begging with arms outstretched,
grumbling with fear?
What's on the other side of fear?

Nothing.

And yet, how deeply do you feel loneliness
when you listen to the same sad songs
and sing sadfully along
and hope for an answer to your call?
Who are you waiting to call?

No one.

Then why, why do you feel so unfocused,
so mercurial with each thought trickling like
beads on a Sunday morning dewdrop,
waiting on an epiphany to arrive?
Where do you find inspiration?

Nowhere but here -
Here, inside the heart you thought you never had
that you thought for so long would never possess
that they said was only for others
that we said we'd all share,
and then why, why do we feel so deeply?

Missing

He didn't come.

A dark cloud forever cast over his shoulders,

shoulders I haven't seen in three, four years

He's upset, they say.

Drape yourself in sympathy, but we all know

what we don't know

Who will be there for you?

Why didn't you say anything?

Why didn't they say anything?

Why are we frustrated?

Who are we to say?

He's exhausted, I bet.

Creativity Research

Subtitle: That Poem in Which I Plagiarize Song Lyrics

I forgot how to write.
I fed myself forced creativity,
rejected by peristalsis.
Losing that part of my brain where my
halfway ideas and unfinished stories reside -
would that not be the worst reply?
(it's a superpower)

Who doesn't remember those times I
attempted being "poetic" and I tried not to rely
on laudations my acquaintances showered on me
believing perhaps thine words were slick and sly...
Do I even know about rhymes?
(fifty K for a verse, no degree out)

Crowds pushing, music pulsing, everybody wants the one
in the middle.
Walls crumble in and fold inside themselves the desires they
wish could hide.
But then who am I to shove my assumptions and superfluous fives
on a population I don't comprise?
(king of anything, she said)

Ah, only now do I realize the reasons they surmised
a talent could reside in the things that they call eyes -
but mine?
Making habits, breaking requirements, unplugging styles.
(on to the next one, on to the next one)

The Swell

Dangling toes over the edge, wondering
Who remembers?
Insignificant digits appended to a significant life
Hold your own hands
Nothing else matters but
self-belief
existing halfway between fantasy and reality

That insufferable swell
Chills dancing their way through veins and arteries
Genuine energy with childish fears
beg the question, why do we fear these things?

Is it pain? deep inside a different soul yet unknown
Songs will write themselves and only after publication
will I know what I mean

If Bovine Could Fly

Scratching at the unpainted surface of a tired melody
Half truths and full lies entertain themselves in heartfolds
Who is the dog that barks his every fleeting thought
without careful contemplation
whose insincere consideration begs for laughable condemnation?

A wipe at the face and halt. Inhaling stale air
marks mere attempts at determination and they
pretend cirrus clouds and radioactive demons are but distractions
in an opaque painting of a lackadaisical raison d'être

Yet freshwater etches a fresh scar on ravaged skin
and leaves unprinted harmonies for the homeless to pick
Wondering -
No wondering.
Reaping ideas they tried piecing into a Picasso frown that'd
theoretically turn upside down if bovine could fly and
brush off their shoulders like
inconvenient dirt
thinking we'd all laugh ensemble

But I refuse to accept dysfunctional bombs and saccharine pity
from those who think not of what they are.
Surely a mind such as mine might understand.

Unremarkable Diary

Everything that drowns the silence

Sleeps inside of me

All the moments people dream of

Creep inside of me

Put my head to the radio and speak

Louder than the voices in my head

Tumbling down cracks in the name of

A visage only I see

Who sees? Is it me?

Wonders of aging time and tearless goodbyes and angst we pretend to harbor unnecessarily

Was it just a jaded teenage dream?

Greedy for the light and

Grieving shadows through unknown tomorrows but there lies

Truth

Such truth in the eyes that look beyond what I believe to be

My version of reality

My adaptation of peace

And I wonder, oh I wonder!

Dangerous thoughts are those that aim to please the

Citizens of a granite city

And the cuts in their jackets and ties in their blouses

Crease every page of an unremarkable diary

And I taste a little bittersweet,

a little redder than most but catheters scream and lions flee and

Poetry lies by the wayside, wondering, "Who are these things?"

Only by the midnight do my thoughts run free and am I caught in a leash

Burn what things may fall please and I

Yes, I

Will renew peace.