Late last night we all took acid.
The lights shot out of us like purple lasers.
We were lost, but I think
we were really trying to be found.
Let’s go to the Maldives. We can get a hut. It’ll be one of those huts surrounded by water on three sides with a long bamboo dock to lead us back to land when we’re ready. We can relax. You’ll finally be able to breathe and sleep. I will be tan, thin, and happy. You’ll sing me lullabies and we’ll eat fresh mangoes as the sun sets and the ocean waves us into slumber.
This plastic ring of mine is an endless circle of strength.
It knows no boundaries other than the one it makes on its own.
I know no boundaries.
This ring of beauty, grace, intelligence, and wonder.
It swallows me into a vortex of joy that never leaves,
Even when I must.
This never ending smile of mine relentlessly calls me.
Play, grow, amaze, and allow my fears to become just a thought
That disintegrates with every fumble.
This hula hoop of mine is my weapon of choice
In a battle against a sedentary, negative, unfulfilled existence.
My love to share.
My insides quiver like the string attached to the antenna.
“Oh! darling, try and get some sleep;
defy the blank screams in your head.
Sail off into the cavernous gems of your childhood.
Crush the beetles beneath your feet;
drink the juices; don’t look back.”
I don’t want to be an embarrassment anymore.
I don’t want to hang my head down low anymore.
I want to want to be myself.
I want to want to live.
But above it all,
I want to be satisfied with who I am
so I can leave my cocoon
and not be so fucking ashamed
to call myself by my own name,
or look you in the eyes
and tell you how I feel.
I was once lucky enough to have a balcony
It overlooked the sea
My legs would hang off and
my feet would touch the sand
The breeze blew and blew,
but never knocked it down
I would drink tea with seagulls and
shake the hands of fishermen sailing by
The sun and rain would stop by too
They never got along, but I made time for both of them
I collected my ashes in a small tin can,
But my neighbors complained about the low tide
I don’t have a balcony anymore
There was a great storm
It is buried under years of
memories and distance
and what we all thought was love
IMDB tells me it was 2004.
A mile-marker in pen internet
to remind me
that ten years feels like minutes.
The movies alone is religion
and AAA Cabs is a chariot.
I snuck in to spend Halloween
under the lights.
2004, I was eighteen
and I’d been drinking-
Instead of parading skin,
I’d left week-old friends
with an Irish goodbye,
and an elevator ride
and a trail of Black and Mild.
Who smokes Black and Milds?
I wanted the burn
but was too scared
of my asthma returning.
Parents gave me a credit card
but read through every charge-
Cash at the Exxon
so I could taste college.
The film on my fingers
from the fatty oil
was a precursor
to my Weight Watchers
Halloween came to me
over a dispatcher’s speaker:
“We got two but one is
puking in the seat so…
I’m leaving them
at Saint Francis.
I’ll come back in fifteen.”
That’s how long it seemed
for me to burn
down to a plastic filter.
I’m a triple-feature-
the king of The Galleria.