Why do stray cats taste like unfiltered cigarettes?

To disguise the dandelions shiver,

Embracing the empty flagpoles metronome

Tinging for its rectangle lover
Off somewhere
In war
Or fashion. Why must she be like this?

To color code table cloths dawned
On the Fourth,
Anchored onto redwood. I’d pick her clean
Off Napoleon’s grin
If I could find a toothpick.

But I found glue
But I found brilliance
Pink & Orange as pollution.
But I’ve memorized
A code to unlock
A cell phone. That’s important.

What I won’t? Masterful, clever & cardboard.
What Is…a smoke alarm caterwauling
A surprise that’s thankful for its batteries.

Space For You


Tiny said,
“You remind me of dope &
Dirty things.”

And I think
She found me
A valiant
But what provokes

Open spaces-
What belongs here?

I thought this little space
Was for Tiny? I thought
I had enough room?

Open spaces
To put more of her
Than me,
In here.

Tiny said nothing
So, I invented
A conversation.

I’m placing it here,
In case she is.

A Polyamorous Love Affair.


First day of summer,
She’s soaking her diamonds
In tap water
To experience a clear love-affair.

But I revealed the same prisms
Using broken glass
We found
In the neighbor’s backyard.

He was screaming
About a sordid love-affair
And she cried
For hours.

They’re quiet
For the moment.

We’re placing silence aside
To question the relevancy
Of commitment. I know
The appeal of glorified
Infidelity, they placed their slogan
On birth control,

I’m a needy fucker
When I’m awake.

It’s only when I’m sleeping
That I’m proud of us.

Our generation ignores the docile involvement
That is common courtesy. It’s a movement
For the us,
I accept
No relevancy.

Birthmark Stationary


No evidence of sanity, unless the dollops of whip cream he utilizes to disguise chipped paint distributed helter-skelter on his murder free walls is evidence of stability, but this isn’t an invitation for judgment. He procured his solutions by thinking creatively. The insane do this with ease. Inside his house, a former church by birth, a bacterium now, or if the walls are any indication of progress, dried whip-cream was the least of his worries and filling the brief hours before sunrise entrenched his fancy. But it’s in the process of action that a moment becomes a dandy, skipping to a tune secured inside the realm of only the I (eye) can see.

Political Prophecy


Her superstitions were graceful,
An allowance of
Plotted plies transitioning toward
A better America. Of course
Ragamuffin rearranged
The stained-glass windows:
Jesus became a jumper,
Joseph a squatter
And Mary walked about
On nubs. Pedestals bright
As Mission Accomplished
& caution tape
Supported the weight
Of recluses. We gathered
In a crowd to admire his solitude.

They Fake It


Children, unsupervised, brush chlorine into bedraggled winks, stabbing the corners of their smiles with toothpicks, claiming the pain instigates nostalgia for an empty uterus. Puddles shimmer as swollen toes compel ripples to distort the reflection of swollen toes. The process of reflection and ripple prompts a loop of action to continue endlessly until the purpose of recurrence dissipates from the sun’s violent lift. What lingers in the clouds is the purpose of before, but what belongs in the now isn’t the essence of recurrence instead it’s a recycling of then to now. This ensures the now is what’ll happen as an absolute of the past inching toward the future. The now never exists. The now contains the past but never the future, but never exists singularly. Often the things that exist singularly aren’t unique because they occur often. Examples of a singular thing are so bland they deserve a violent metaphor, like enjoying the opportunity to cut hair, envisioning the follicles have nerve endings causing an infliction of pain upon each slice, or sleeping with the enemy. This is how singular things commit themselves to boredom while sustaining from suicide due to a lack of excitement. They fake it.

Why Can’t Markets Regulate Themselves? That’s The Punchline.


Layaway Angel invest in the debts of delinquent balances. Assemble the tremor to displace fuzz, currency and an acceptance to be bashful with ownership. When the morning cashier dings the
Bell, register stiff as a phallus erected, study the scent of change, iron rich blood leaks from
Speckles famous faces printed with solitude of the mind,
In mind,
Propaganda “dandy.” A displacement
Of reprobates
But in the backroom
Panderers moisten
Sliced meats.

They peel turkey
From a lump
Colored peach.

And the butcher
Places his machete
So it may reach

The complicated assemblage of processed muscle and flesh.