Acclaimed assholes always act after aggressing

Bouncing breasted, bubble butted, B-movie beauties. Beyond

Cat-calls, ‘cause crude call-outs can’t cause crooked consent.

Despite defiling demure dames, downfall’s disdain doesn’t deter derelict dicks’

Exonerated edicts. Everywhere, everyone, especially entertainers encroach every

Female, flashing fame for a fast fuck for four failed films.

Going, going, gone, great going, good god!

He’s hit her harder! How horrible, however

It’s interesting if inked idiots ignored impact infractions, it

Justifies jackshit jury, jackshit jailtime, jackshit justice? Jesus

Knows klansmen killed kids, keeping

Little litany literally letting low-lives

Make malice. Messiah: minimal moderation, mostly muted. Myself:

Non-confrontational. Neglecting national noise. Never

Offering outspoken oral opposition of obvious offenders. Opposite of

Partially passable poetry. Pathetically piecing piercing problems

Queueing querulously, quasi-moralities, questioning

Recycled reasons responsible. Rarely risqué roasts, reviling recently relevant

Spacey’s, Székely’s. Semi-serious sentiments seeking support. Seldom surprise seeing said

speaker 

Turn tail, talking theatrics, ‘til the times turn to term.

Useless usher under umbra’s

Veil. Valuing validation. Vastly vapid, visiting

Wealthy wastelands wherever, words waning. Woefully weak whispers when witnessing

Xenophobes x-ray xeric

Youths. Yesterday’s yuppies yell “yuge.”

Zealot zeitgeist. Zero zipping. Zombie zoo.

A stack of turtles sleep atop my dresser

Resting somewhere between peace and panic

Across a page split down the middle

 

A creek caresses the cricks of their shells

From higher than my vision believed

Trickling washed words and shallow lines

 

And steadily eroding the space between

A fall of words ricocheted and clawed past the turtles

As to strike my ears if I approached

 

The layers impatient inside the dresser

Don’t let them get too wet or wordy

Worn words are the hardest to forget

 

And the coyote never forgets which words pierce

So easily past these paltry layers

But getting dressed is the first step in becoming normal

 

Again, the coyote comes for the turtles

Crying in the daylight as I lay awake

She must hunger too, I suppose

 

And what can I do but let her eat

For the bridge between our eyes

Wrings lightning down my brainstem

 

Those putrid fangs piercing the layers, the shells

The calcified cracks bleeding dreams

From the wayside and I am still

 

Watching my breath turn to lead

What can I do but count the casualties

And stack the survivors so

 

That creek runs across the center

Atop the dresser again

Where the turtles sleep

i am evicted

from bed again

last night i dreamt

of something meaningful

probably

maybe it was

the unspoken truths of being

that lurk in the shadows

of our words

or the silence

that dwells in the pauses

of our voices our

vices

why do we lie

in bed trying to find reason

behind stacked turtles in barren pastures

at what phony validation

do we find ourselves

grasping

for instant

gratification

or instant

dinners

in the freezer

i can pee while it cooks

wipe the seat because

i missed

when these pants werent so tight

because fitting in is something

i would still like

if the lights werent so bright

and the microwave werent so loud

but who am i to complain

it was the first one to speak to me today

its four o clock

pizza rolls with ketchup

is where i am right now

where will i be later

and how will i get there

i think

the middle is still frozen