The People’s Republic of Snot
has, once again, sent an invasion fleet
into my head
and I’m tripping
balls on a bag of shrooms
because laughing at the news with God
is the only sensible way
to ride out a head cold. I’m wearing
thirty-dollar socks and I’m pretty sure
my feet have an erection.
My internal organs
I have weak thumbs
and a mouthful of disease
but it’s only five episodes long. Netflix and Hell
are kind of the same thing,
kind of perfect on a cold day, but I want
to go outside, run jump ride a bike
eat mystery meat on a stick. The future was
supposed to be flying cars and teleportation,
not bagging our own groceries and televisions
that tweet. #bullshit
I stood in front of a 7-Eleven
without my penis
selling a wide variety of pork pie hats
(as you do).
My mother crouched nearby
in the underbrush
blood stringing off her chin
eating a sable.
memories of cheating
on women. I wish
I could blame it on being younger.
Where on earth is 6am?
in my mind in the mirror
my beard says
walt whitman hey man, got any change?
Write to Congress! Demand they solve
all 32,000 FreeCell games!
Demand they recognize orange
as a primary color! Is there any problem
Wish I still had my old Pee Chee
folders. The ones with the right
colors (dried blood on goldenrod).
Pulling rainbows out of my under-
wear, a look of mock surprise on my face, routine
disappointment on my wife’s. Honey—
Is this really every week?
All this mayhem? This bombing
of countries with toys? To save face?