when’s 2 and two?
in a pink and fluffy chain of deuterium
active conglomerations of capitalism
smackin’ greenies ‘cross the ol’ Width times Height
think love is nothing!
but isn’t it nicer
you and me sitting here
drinking weevil poison
and lamenting how not dead we are?
the dream of a dream you can’t wake up from!
i don’t like those little things they give you
when you don’t make small talk correctly
little tiny glass beads
useless little things
why can’t you and i lift up above the clouds
and the salty stacks of meat in expensive eyewear
trying to look like expensive eyewear
will cook like zucchini
didn’t you say something to the effect
that inside man there is a wandering child
and inside the wandering child is
a grief-stricken smile, tired, resigned eyes?
despite it all
maybe because of it all
no, definitely because of it all
otherwise what is there–
maybe this is what the psychopath thinks
when he tries on people like hats
on cloudy, boring, midwestern days
when multiplication tables have lost their charm…