My bed would have sheets with a thread count so high
they could catch cosmic rays like gold fish in a net.
The interest in my savings account would generate
stacks so high I could cover all of PA's government debt.
I could buy every abandoned bank owned house
in East Liberty and flip them into homes for vets.
I would own a numbers matching copy of every 80's
car from Japan along with a fleet of NES themed jets.
My body would be tattooed with gold laced ink and
weekend benders would rival the payroll of the Mets.
Every word I said would be front page in New York and
anyone who got my face time would consider it a "get".
My clothes would match tighter than anti-matter to the universe
and my entourage would be thicker than Boba Fett's.
I would pay contractors to build islands shaped like
my name and host parties and artists to play the sickest sets.
Every king would have me on speed dial and
people would gear their lives to my productions
like African gatherers along the length of the Nile.
Every time I would let myself smile
the world would go to defcon three
because my teeth would shine nuclear platinum white and
I'd be making it rain like warheads and falling satellites.
Every night would be the greatest night of someone's life,
every twelve hours would be a cycle stopping event.
People would line up around the block to see me
step outside my front door and tell them to get bent.
I would never wear cologne and shower once a week, but
each person I walked by would swear it was heaven's scent.
If I went to Vegas or Dubai the city would hold it's breath,
put it all on twenty six black because I'd win every last bet.
I would buy the entirety of the Amazon basin
just because there are some things to preserve and protect
and then I would buy out every last warlord and subsidize
alternative energy until mid east pursuits became pointless.
I would be so god damned rich the laws of physics
would no longer apply and
every day, no matter how dark
or torrential the down pour of being became
I could walk the streets for hours on end and
never once get wet.
original works of parts
Improvised Explosive Device
If I touch myself,
I can still feel the edges
underneath my skin
where the metal pierced,
when my vision went black
against the red orange concussion
where the ground gave way
under my feet and
I walked on air,
head over heel,
because I touched
stripped nerves to contacts
I could not see
in a land I did not know
on a road
I never traveled before
with you.
The shards of your
exploded heart still left in me.
Still working their way back out.
I can still feel the edges
underneath my skin
where the metal pierced,
when my vision went black
against the red orange concussion
where the ground gave way
under my feet and
I walked on air,
head over heel,
because I touched
stripped nerves to contacts
I could not see
in a land I did not know
on a road
I never traveled before
with you.
The shards of your
exploded heart still left in me.
Still working their way back out.
The Fish and the Stairwell
"How do you do," said the fish to the staircase.
"Feeling weary having viewed the Saturday evening
through the sounds of the news in the living room."
"Well," the fish said
from the mantle above the bed
in the master bedroom,
"I'm sure you have not missed much,
in the gestures and faces featured."
The staircase sighed.
"Is something else the matter," the fish asked.
"There is a warning of a flash flood,"
the staircases voice hidden in bits by a thunderous boom.
"That's alright," the fish piped
wheeling about in it's bowl like
a reflector to the wheel of a bicycle.
"I've been meaning to go about town
with my new and still pressed Saturday evening suit and
snake skin shoes. I've been waiting all my life
to get out, haven't you?"
"Feeling weary having viewed the Saturday evening
through the sounds of the news in the living room."
"Well," the fish said
from the mantle above the bed
in the master bedroom,
"I'm sure you have not missed much,
in the gestures and faces featured."
The staircase sighed.
"Is something else the matter," the fish asked.
"There is a warning of a flash flood,"
the staircases voice hidden in bits by a thunderous boom.
"That's alright," the fish piped
wheeling about in it's bowl like
a reflector to the wheel of a bicycle.
"I've been meaning to go about town
with my new and still pressed Saturday evening suit and
snake skin shoes. I've been waiting all my life
to get out, haven't you?"
Seether
Believed outside the loop, and the cage and the frame
worked like torqued iron, flaked tar painted,
gate work, in a remove from a remove and
corned roomed long sat with pen and pad
bound ghost grid lined pan handled. Phony phonemes
ascribed to dots and points of lives
missed edge wise for their sines and valley
in simple Tims and Sally types and stereo modified
from mono myopia and fan blade rush
dried for easy compression and digestion.
The zoo keeper's blue songs about bases
free touched in a remove from a remove and
jingled keys twirled on ring fingers and pinkies
cocked out loud beside lip purses and slurred
curses to the gods of being and been theres
that point like poor programming to no wheres.
Believe beyond a part from the hum of filth fly
wings and compound eyes darting in box step locked steps
in algorithms undefined but not for tries.
To attempt and accept success sans confer.
To view and balk and dispute the wondering
with clever de factos and oiled slinky maxim .
Beware the professed people watcher.
The taker par excellence who walks
ignorant of the isness, who insist they are
birds to the view of their own eyes,
seeing neither the here nor the there
from the insides of a space
halfheartedly occupied to begin.
worked like torqued iron, flaked tar painted,
gate work, in a remove from a remove and
corned roomed long sat with pen and pad
bound ghost grid lined pan handled. Phony phonemes
ascribed to dots and points of lives
missed edge wise for their sines and valley
in simple Tims and Sally types and stereo modified
from mono myopia and fan blade rush
dried for easy compression and digestion.
The zoo keeper's blue songs about bases
free touched in a remove from a remove and
jingled keys twirled on ring fingers and pinkies
cocked out loud beside lip purses and slurred
curses to the gods of being and been theres
that point like poor programming to no wheres.
Believe beyond a part from the hum of filth fly
wings and compound eyes darting in box step locked steps
in algorithms undefined but not for tries.
To attempt and accept success sans confer.
To view and balk and dispute the wondering
with clever de factos and oiled slinky maxim .
Beware the professed people watcher.
The taker par excellence who walks
ignorant of the isness, who insist they are
birds to the view of their own eyes,
seeing neither the here nor the there
from the insides of a space
halfheartedly occupied to begin.
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