Furtive im flipping out. I’m fleeing the one room schoolhouse imposed on me in calico and paisley, their cursive lies, text message leashes, pdf icons and supplement fiber. I’m so impatient, so tired of my only ropes being poverty and very finite time. Where is my four leaf clover. Where are my satin sheets, that perfume of yours? Where is soft hair streamed across my pillowcases, blowing before my breathing to remind me im not alone? i am
whats the point of being a man when you stand where i stand?
run run run run run run run run
as this manic melody strains through my ribs and paradigms i know you are standing over the pool horizon with your whimsical whistle, all these tests, routines under tinsel streamers, with the glass slippers, cleaning the bluebearded key with pumice. waiting to see how long i can hold my breath. you have so much hope. you’ve been busking me a bonanza of watertread trials, I’m coming into form.
and will you jump in?
or clap me on the shoulder,
well done sport, a towel slung
over your shoulder as you hop on the bus?
smiling at faces in a dreaming stream