One Hundred and Twenty-Ninth Entry

Hey there little poetry blog reader. Bet you thought I forgot all about you? Well, you've never been far from my thoughts little one. I've just been frustrated and trying to get some mo-foing work over the summer. And when I'm down, it's harder to write. Plus I'm pretty active with KA SHEE STEES. Also, two little bunnies named Amy and Alex atarted a blog that has something to do with me. It's over here. Also, big ups to my man Nathan Austin, who has won my heart and also received the most improved blog award from me for constantly have more and more interesting stuff to stay. I struggle with an interesting paragraph. This next poem is hopefully the beginning of a series.

Here's my poem:

BAD VIBES

Soft rock hits the champagne tilt,
drive you up the mountain in the dark.
Sing for your shadow, you keep the things
in me you most want to use, old format TV,
case of smokes, borrowed wooden tool, instructional
book with the first chapter missing. We made
whatever it taught us how to make.

Wallow in the foreground, you are a character.
Popular in the navy. Blue in an iceberg,
but not now. Softened into an action figure,
comatose, movie-watching, place one hand above
head, an obvious gesture. Hugged into the action
figure’s form, ask the office manager, what is action?
Fallen behind the desk from the exhaustion of Chinese characters
in the movie. I know how to plead. I’m getting tough
like whale-skin now, get me out of this office,
thirsty for gas, it’s tumbling time down the narrow
hallway of burnt cubicles, too timid to fall apart.

The desert is boring. Let’s blend with the outer edges,
Becoming what was once thought to be phantoms
as we wiggle inside your house, your rifle pressed
against your sternum up against the wall, sweat
masking your emoting, nobody cares. Quit freaking out
about the cluster of strangers who engineer your death:
you’ll never see em. Who knows how to be dead
anyway, you can’t just coil up and pretend. Noodles
come right out of the bowl, avocado refrigerator memory
plagued with roaches, time spent in childhood nearly
always non-refundable, action isn’t emotion, nobody
wants to be there when you do your “thing.”