Safety Scissors
Comfy pants (home alone confusing whitenoise with applause)
Neon dance (clomping hooves all in time, call and response)
Pumpkin smiles (if you don’t have money, well, then i don’t strip down)
In packs or piles (the world is lost, they should include us now)
It’s all water under the sugar bridge anyhow
Madly tapdancing until the time runs out
While spamalot selling protest signs to cows
Got my mojo maintaining regular business hours
And i don’t want to know where gravy comes out
From the director
Of the sequel
Of the sequel
Of the sequel
Of the sequel
Of the sequel
Of the sequel
Of the sequel
Of the sequel
Of the sequel
Of the sequel
Of the sequel to saw x
It’s...
Safety scissors - my truth is fattening
Rhymes with izzle - student demonstration time
Pinkerton panther, phonevoice and matching
Since you’re paid for, it’s store credit, no refund
Hallelujah for a refreshing pepsi
Hollow hands, blank books and waterwings
Chase the seagull, kill it and walk away
J. walter thompson, paint markers and camel legs
It’s plainly different when you’re lit to cut teeth
And trade blue for the spoon in your gums
Go go go
We’re so connected
Through ducts, never alone, silently followed
We’re so connected
Hooded detainees filing into a plane
Go go go
Yo blood money, it’s got to be the shoes
Don’t hold your breath for a joint about sweatshops
Poem words picked from drawers - grey, black, and white
Lost when yawning feet climb in their socks
Do you get mad or are you always quiet?
I don’t think you know me very well
Things must be said twice before they’re heard
Or like receipts they’re bleached and blotted out
...and are meant only ‘til they’re said out loud
How do you sleep at night?
(dot dot dot)
Phantom gatherings and paths unfollowed
Packed brittle and yellowing in boxes
Stains bursting across the floor
Indoor snow settling down like tired kittens
Onearmed years buckled square under weight
Of undripping rain that will not evaporate
A steady eroding wash of accumulating entropy
Blue flame smokes, extinguished to stone
Days flip by like a baseball card
In the spokes of a bike
Tires
A lost fly in winter spinning meekly on its back
Running the air in prickly spasms like a dream
And falling silent
Anger wrapped in blankets
A padded knock of feeble fists balled pink and soft like sunday ham
Sliding faint down doors with weak whispers
Then swung lazily from shoulder gallows in narrowing cursive os
Mirror cracked and distended, sallow pores swallowing warm fog
Widemouthed and recalibrating
There is no fire
Just a pale pleasant glow lighting swollen palms
Groping halfhope and heart
All spun and um between words
A bare spidery sinus like a blindfold reaching back toward your ears
As you walk until all you can do is walk
Fumbling for a light switch
Or a wall
Then anything solid at all
Waiting for shapes to undress from behind photocopied scenery
And muffled faces shocked white and abbreviated
All feeling sucking back behind your own gelatin skin
Until you stop
And sit
And your ghost continues on ahead
Without thought to toe or topography or thought
This is the halflife, transformed
Swaddled in the vast blank chrysalis
Nourished by the lukewarm void and drying into the shell
A husk for new corn eyes
A clear container with the label scratched off
Storage space for younger dreams
In its very own empty theatre