Perhaps if I widen the
“O”, you’ll peep hole the innocuous prison
where I touch my
every syllable with the present tension. At least I
respect your privacy enough to
climax with only a bathroom stall’s crack worth of fleshy material.
Rarely do you see such an expose LIVE! when
A&E reenactments assure you the issues are black and white
zeroing in on some ominously redundant villain
yelling about the deliciousness of pedophilia between two
slices of bread. Television for the voraciously hungry. Please
excuse the brashness of metaphor; I’ve been
needing to get that fixed.
Incessant leaky faucets I’ve requested, Well… hoped the
Over—I mean—land lord to alleviate
risking, in the process, the sanctity of my own lunch meat.
Give me your generally quiet, generally sound
echoing just enough of the aluminum can message
needed to tie recycling to martyrdom.
Embarrass the thrill seekers’ rollercoaster by
reading Goosebumps and drawing perfect circles while
around bends, the screeching of wanna-be perpetual motion attempts
lunging you into a dimension where you give
the G-forces a second thought.
Handholding you a tour of this brochure
allows you to reinforce the Jenga tower
nudging the one block you want but
so unwilling to let the wafers crumble.
Have I told you today how much you hide me?
With the ending near, I can’t imagine
ever having said quite enough.