VERY quick spoken word – pushing for speed to grab the urgency of mania or #bipolar.
Pumped up on that chalky sunshine,
The moon is fading to another vicious morning.
Spent my hours beneath the starlight in the wind,
Lovingly hitting repeat on every action I’d begin.
Glassed eyes and withered muscles ache,
Blood thundering past a thirst impossible to slake.
The ride was hot and heavy to the top,
Until we picked up speed enough to never stop.
Another night is gone,
The goddamn birds are chirping,
And while I think I was productive,
I’m sure it wasn’t worth it.
My eyeballs ache from skullbound flashes,
Each tendon in my body is moaning,
The sun and sky are so bright with light,
That “back inside” seems to be an order instead of what’s right,
I hang back at the door, or sheet, or flap,
Screwing up my mind and face to think about,
Why despite the price,
I race the setting rays into the West,
A challenge that bears no chance to win and promises self inflicted malice.
It feels so nice to taste the liquor of the stars,
While moonlight drips down as whimsy scented honey,
Transforming us all into the Cosmos serving bar.
Thick blue hued amber smoked into an untouchable glow,
Spirit boosting tinsel to top our nightly gifted box.
Conjures whims and true lunacy,
Sets the true Faithful afloat,
In a boat atop the inbound light.
So, so, slow.
Living like a cat last summer,
Couldn’t afford sheets or real food,
But the room was a soft pink,
And the lumpy mattress felt softer than the bricks.
Living like a cat I was,
Crawling under piles of clothes to nap,
Eating cans of tuna (pocket sized),
Basking in the sun so the shade felt cooler.
Cat life is great for those critters,
But at 6’+ and a bundle of seething “more,”
It’s feline for some but didn’t sit right on me,
So I’ll gladly hand it back this time around.
Feeling a bit more canine today.
Though cans of tuna still roll free,
I have a forever human to lick,
Hopefully I’ll get older than a pup –
— goddamn pet control still wants to lock me up.
Long night, long day.
Screeching whistles from the bat winged harpies playing in the sun.
I swear I put a dog collar over the tree stump last week,
Wonder what happened to the dog?
I should probably go out and check,
But now it’s impossible to tell through all their beaks.
Should have embellished the points of each ear,
Small silver trellises of moonlight into nursery rhymed eyes.
C’est la vie,
I’ve got a lockjawed dedication that demands fevered lacerations,
And if they leave a few eggs on the ground for breakfast this evening –
-so much the better.