The Lunar Cycle
I gotta be rid of her, I’ve decided.
this woman, in her bring-me-down blouse.
the subtraction to my addition.
another tarnished by a wild condition.
like most of us, behind these barricaded doors.
So I caught an outbound rail
after posting bail from the livelihood jail,
listening to the distant closeness
of the talk passed from one to one,
or one to a brink wall.
jammed wall to wall, as these places are,
I’m sure I’m alone by far,
from the aura of everything and
everyone’s power and value.
I thought that if they would just work on
carrying it well,
maybe there would be no
recession after a swell.
a loaded southern drawl reverberated
violently off of my double breasted persona image constrictor
and believe it or not,
it became impossible to think swifter.
me and all the hopheads and investors
didn’t want to know exactly what
this Deputy Dog voice meant to say.
though, at any given moment
I’m sure one of us will
snap. snap. snap. snap.
That is really what I need,
what I’ve been waiting ideally for:
an unadulterated breeze of alone.
a time slowing, frozen moment
to stiffen me up against
this unifying meaning of the mob.
a neon hot ricochet of the future tense
lies behind any door.
Will you approach cautiously,
fearing anything you weren’t told before?
Fuck it, get free from foreshadowing,
so this history life of ours won’t be such a
All I mean to do is grab everyone I know,
carry in their groceries, realize their
stress, clean up every mess and
say to their childhood selves,
“ Think it over.”
cause no one in their right mind
wants to become dead while living.
I’m boarding a living, breathing,
and I hate feeling sorry for
every-person left to the
comforts of cotton-modesty.
going to the dogs or getting rich,
going to the dogs by getting rich,
and embodying the everyday lunar cycle.