it hasn't gone anywhere.
today i just know about it.
this is the art of repetition which i master.
my brain is ten. can't you tell? childhood
will never end for me.
it dies to show itself off.
when passing roadkill.
i count on my fingers
how old i am supposed to be. i lose track.
i feel a little lost.
but there is money to compensate.
money smiles with promise. "you be my ally."
don't bother to moderate.
can't fool anyone
with those eyes only for the table.
i cannot look it in the eyes.
they bear the resemblance of aquamarine- fit
for a stone but not for the face.
on the face,
it's stark and uninviting.
and wouldn't an exorcism be kind for someone
of either party here?-
a trinket to pow-bam all the pain.
the layers end
with a slap of the good book and
the hand of a john of god on my head.
like in my wildest dreams- a quick
dissection, and i'm free.
wish that awkward enemy well. begone, begone.
i've got to get into heaven. so begone.
i want my motivations to get into heaven
to mean something else
than being a do-gooder for mere insurance.
"it is nice of you to believe there ought to be more,"
you pat me on the head.
i am your pegasus.
in some foreign language you said i was.
i could not understand
so i did not disagree. i laughed nervously.
i did not hear archangels, nor did i
hear the sounds of their lyres.
i did not see the spikes that shows up in scans
lifting me into their
starchy, alma mater arms. sweet validation.
and then there's all else
which does not show itself anywhere.
you're that catalyst
not allowed in the small talk.