Why did you buy two pizza pies?
You’re only one man, and you have thighs
That will grow fatter
If you eat all that batter.
“They were deep dish,
Which makes me its bitch
When combined with the heaven
Of ‘second pie costs $7.'”
Well, that explains
Your stretched-tummy pains.
Now go and count sheep
You should be asleep.
“I would be! I would!
But it’s hard to be good.
After crunching all week,
I feel so… uh, weak.”
That I can see!
It’s going to be
A much-needed weekend
Spent with a friend.
When people ask “How are you feeling?”, I wish they wanted this sort of answer:
I have this…
Deep, rich, weeping.
Eyes tight, throat… Tingling down my back and a dry mouth.
I shiver though I don’t move.
A cold breeze passes through my head.
A cold breath, a dry mouth, a buzz across the back; a tight lower back, furrowed brow.
Wide, blubbery second chin. Dry mouth, fast breath.
Stab right shoulder, under scapula.
I’ll test this sometime: dropping in and describing my felt sensations in real time.
I’ll test it 6 times in different contexts (because I’ll only get comfortable after the first few experiments).
Xfinity, you tease
In the unlikeliest of places
By stoking my hopes with the promise of bars
Then dashing them all with a “cannot connect!”
I must say I’d rather
Have no WiFi at all—
Be forced ‘pon my phone’s hotspot
Than hear your wispy false claims.
But sometimes, my dear,
You appease this old soul—
Like this ‘forenoon, when I video called
My boss from the street.
Though your robustness did waver
So we switched to “just audio,”
You did remain connected! Aye, you stood strong throughout,
Leaving boss none the wiser
That I’m a van-confined hobo.
Why do you toy so, dear Xfinity,
With me, of all people—loyal lover of your service
As I try to log in
With my dad’s friend’s account?
Tiny desire for identity
In a cookie-cutter world.
But this one’s “so you,”
Just like thousands
Have thought before.
Frightens the close-minded…
And we’re all close-minded.
So we stick to
The same safe deviance
As everyone else.
But it brings you joy.
What more do you seek?
What more is there?
It’s only two dollars.
Just buy it already.
I h’ain’t been takin’ great care o’ myself.
I been a tired grump, drained sumthin awful.
I wanna finish mah work so i c’n relax
’n’ then begins th’ vay-kay-shun.
When we dated, I hated the Satan we created,
But being dumped has lumped those bumps into the rough, tough suffering of a motherfucker.
After a month or two or three or four, I’ll finally admit I wanted you more
Than I was willing—how thrilling and chilling,
But I was the villain, or maybe I still am.
The fast past we lasted unmasked a part of my heart; it started smarting.
That caressing mess tested this repressed hesitant lesser
Who now piles miles of style on humble, tumbling mumbles to crumble your wall, crawling his all
To your mind-wracking shack, where a taxing hacks dances without pants, hands landing in bands on yours, the shores of sores that hastened mace to our faces, disgracing us apace,
Then the end, when I bended to mend but you send us friends, me in tender shreds.
I’m sad and mad for a lad’s behavior, but you’re no savior.
It’s unfair, but sharing care would tear at you more, so formerly yours will be sore for the pair.
When you miss kissing me, sissy, I’ll be listening, glistening with desire, no liar—
Just a failed male who paled in your presence, too hesitant.
I’m told more bold would leave me cold but I’m old enough to scoff.
It’s rough to be cuffed to a shelf of hell. Who can tell when I’ll fell
For another lover who recovers my suffering.
Just empty space—dear Lord, what a waste! This place doesn’t taste of your scent so I’m bent with pent up emotion, an ocean of notions.
No lies, just a tired writer’s inspired cries,
Pining in lines to know you’re trying too—
It’s hard for you. You miss me and list me as a risk to stop kissing.
Now shown, I bemoan roaming the loneliest road,
No shores of your pores that tore at my core.
So hey, Lady grey, I’d pay you today: explain pain in a way
That tames this crew, say you I matter too.