mental shot guns explode in mind
spraying minuscule blasts as
3 newly balanced tires shred
to slithers on hot southern asphalt.
in AM heat, trepidation lingers -
afternoons momentous decision
proceeds dull ennui
too tired to write,
too tired to type
too tired to wake
too tired to sleep
never quite connected
(agent alligator)
a haze, a hull, a dull mulling
a mish-mash of mediocrity
heads will roll
bodies will tumble
ideas will tremble
in Renaissance of humble
blows & you can't see
the songs anymore - you're
done crying & finished with
factory work & all known facts-
distanced from mother's interest
& the Q "what to do today"
bears more meaning than ever
& more importance than
a romp or joyous jog
is pleading with you &
controls desires & you just
want to be noticed & pleaded
with -a little something-something
I Can See The Future!
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