pickpocketed memory clip

lost me under water with a three piece life suit brain sun burn
have you ever watched a pistol talk about its problems there’s fight to be fought
and paintings to stared at for hours on end and end
worldview through a dusty telescope rusted in the head there’s emotions to run from
and plumbing to be fixed have you ever watched a cloud of smoke dance around your 1 bedroom house
fly on airplane spacecraft fighter jet american dodge ball
out of service humans she won’t swallow my paper ideas origami dream land
the sold out movies feed me dinner puke me mornings make something of yourself
and the figures in the mushroom clouds the city in the sky the toll for the bridge is
too damn ex-pensive ex-dream girl re-written screenplay turned nightmare
horror series my television won’t turn off my muse won’t on digital world
a seesaw in a busy parking lot where full colored televisions dressed like children dine with frozen
dinners in wicker baskets and rolls of plastic wrap stuck in a maze too amazed with artistry
to find the finish line our race ended itself with an old rope swing and a bar stool
drowning in the river we sail each night to forget the land i was planted in
whatever floats my heavy thoughts won’t let me dock in its water the moon on an anchor
the sun backstage waiting for its entrance the play i keep playing the record revolving
the gun in the corner with its head spinning fuzzy picture pixel out of sync movie
short lasting vacations where the props fall over and the set needs rebuilding
your life’s plastic and recyclable mine’s already melted on the sidewalk
people jog in place because the tv don’t got legs fuck the backdrop outside
we’ve got pretty curtains and a nice wallpaper design i’m cliché my smile keeps getting
repeated copywritten feelings we rip off each other’s smirks and sew then on the fabrics that
match my eye color’s never the same shade as my views
i’m tacky and sticking out in crowds my stomach turns itself inside out and washes with
similar colors a saxophone without soul the flashy people with nothing to say
loud static radio show the cloud watching handbook for beginners wish upon a rocket
we eat dinner waiting for the band to play at our table waiting for the bus
waiting for the phone call waiting for the rain to stop waiting for my friends to come
waiting for the funny part waiting for the paycheck waiting for the opportunity
waiting for the day to end waiting for the song i like waiting for the wrong table
getting a bullshit tip and spending it on a bad lunch
wishing on lucky fish just makes the meal taste worse
the catch is the catch isn’t what makes you satisfied
it’s the gun the orange vest the camouflage outfit
and the first deer you see but miss
hunting bad thoughts in a barrel my mind’s open but no one’s coming in
bankrupt
chapter 11’s the epilogue i can’t find inspiration to write


escape
resist
cancer get it while you can
“police are nothing but clergymen with guns”* *alan watts quote


will think for food
look at me grin shit in my gums
spin the bottle of poison and go canadian kiss the ass hole who looks like you
clothing ad minus the good song being fucked in the ass dance around my fire place heart
and we can tell work-time stories to the kids




hiking kit

floating in a puddle
the sixty watt sun doing charcoal sketches of trees
on the ground
i nailed a posted sign to her back
we stared at a puddle that was making fun of the sky
wrapped in fig leaves and dried out memories picking yesterdays from family trees chopping
through her thick head to the campsite where we drink water canteens and she tells me she’s
dieing






to get lost







with me