Some of the Most Directions from Here

Morning under a stack of toasted hamburger buns

I found seeded free green lumber and knew

It was time to finally get the bed zolofted

And clear a space for going under.

East was the bed and South was too red.

North like the snow of Teachers driven hard before us

All the hope of history to date came express-mailed into sight--

Toothpicks in a blind line-up, faking their death as a possible escape.

In southern Brazil, it began raining social spiders.

Nelson Mandela loves Toddlers & Tiaras.

The tainted beef scandal grows

& they recall the British lasagnas.

Zero-sum cannibals offer an unlimited public transport pass

To a grateful multinational protection group

For the obligation-free infrastructure project

They'd guaranteed Chechen infoterrorists.

Down the hill and almost to last year

There were bad haircuts to get

In the hopes we could make

The old Polaroids more nearly near.

Under the national nursing home scenario, 

I dig a pit with two sanded sticks

And fill it with gingerbread men recycled 

From upcycled Old Spice and silent limbs.

My head is killing me--

No molecular shortcut to postponing death

Compels me to be relentlessly sunny.

I keep the pit open & atop like a prized hat.

And into the great pink outdoors,

Hooded with white whips I flagellate & chant, out of habits:

The world is my leper

I shall not want...

The moon is a horse eating water-

Chestnuts out of a pawned brainpan

But mostly it's a dog

In the sense of the playground

You've yet remembered till now only mostly.

Of course, this shouldn't make you think of celery,

But compelled to be relentlessly sunny,

It's so crisp that it does refresh nostalgia

Like a toothache televised in relentless morning syndication.

With the sun deeply involved in viral end-user license agreements,

Out of rayguns it was once again high-time

We started turning sexuality on and off

Like a stolen wallet in the 99th percentile

Of broken doors and roped, justified silence.

Inside, fitting decay like velvet into halved cantaloupes,

Johnny Bible was taste-testing the trail of blood

Into the final interview of the burgundy family room.

He didn't know it was too late, but I wouldn't have

Either or maybe I would have; it's hard to say,

As everyone sometime or another says.

Out in the long grass

Dorothy is discovering cream,

Mostly under the gums.

No one remembers,

Sitting or not sitting,

The Great Comedies anymore,

But Dorothy is using nasal spray

In certain great hopes

To prove whoever smelt it, dealt it.

Skyward, like a chicken deprived religiously of reason,

We cry the sky is falling like beheaded employment into its own lap.

Little did we know it was the fairest of seasons

Or that the job fair had come to town, giving away free pap.

Falling down is fun but moreso to watch.

I bought everyone a new swatch.

We could all keep Time’s arrow

Straight, even when the times were narrow

Like now, when everyone’s living off vegetables grown in old wheelbarrows.

Before the fall comes and between the hours

Of sitting or not-sitting, after April showers,

On futons behind curtains folding out to shadow more sooner, more now-er,

We sit in flip-flops rocking back & forth

Still warm but facing North

And drinking fresh whiskey sours

Debating some of the directions maybe taking from here.