Sucking on this Everlasting Gobstopper of thought
Wishing I could spoon away the rain
While a deluge of wakefulness sops my ability to rest
Puddling cars water the sidewalks
Indifferent hoots like sudden foghorns that screech instead of moan
Openly omniscient about the not-knowing of things
My eyes like opaque clerestories
While all my nose does is blow
I skip bail and go right to the undying heart of misery
And then I yawn and fall back asleep
It is very unlike me to do such things
Seeing now your slow smile and hearing your faraway voice
Possibly plucking the acerola cherries from your eyes
I would not leave the roll toilet-paper-less
Or indulge in the mathematics of buttering toast
It is not this me that does such things
Perhaps a trouty specter has moved into the lake of my habits
Foreboding what spectacle of care I won’t chance a guess
Surely there will be people doing laundry
It is very unlikely that I will do such things
Tossed to the lonely shores of my shipwrecked dreams
For it’s just the devaluation of friendship that appears suddenly
Like an excess of superficiality masquerading as depth
Maybe at a stoplight
While you idle and breathe and stare at the bird shit on your windshield
And think about capital letters
It is very much me to be caught inside-out
Sleeveless and catnapping my way through the early morning
Deranged but drinking coffee
Throwing clothes hangers at the wall
And life’s just a popularity contest without votes
It is mostly not likely that I will change the channel of my regret
The stations here are just static and canned laughter
I wear out the tortured socks of my life to dance in the splendor of rain
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