I see Dali’s
I feel Monet’s
I hear van Gogh’s
I wile out to Drake, Kanye, Rihanna, K. Dot, J. Cole,
and that’s while I party out on the weekend to
these blank walls tell quite a story;
unfortunately for you;
only i can see it,
and get high to it.
drips on our
i’ve slit my wrists
because i know
that was the
here i am again sitting with these two,
while they go on and on and on and on
(i’m pretty sure humans need to breath)
about their new house and the upcoming
vacation where one of them needed a
tetanus shot for some odd reason
(California is NOT that dirty);
oh, perhaps it has something to do with
not getting lockjaw (heaven forbid no talking…)
their dogs also shit and piss everywhere
(no, I will not dogsit those fuckers).
what’s curious or maybe not so curious
is why i’m never asked to help pack
or unpack a house; one reason might
be that i can only commit to moving
as providence will have it, i’m certain i’ll
need the use of one of those new
murphy beds (a la Murphy’s law)
as i once again finish the bottle
with my car parked in a Tow Away Zone.
your kiss is like an adrenaline shot,
which escalates my pulse to an
heart attack imminent.
succulent, seductive, and sensual;
your tongue is like a sugar cane,
which not only taste spectacular,
but also induces diabetic love;
heart attack imminent.
moist, luscious, and tender;
your departure from my life
finally triggers the heart attack;
your gaze has crippled me,
paralyzing my joints,
including stiffness and inflammation,
but lucky for me,
there is no cure for our love;
only everlasting pain.
i stuffed myself into one of those large
black plastic garbage bags
(you know, the one for yard work),
and threw myself into the trash can
ready to be disposed of by the extremities
of an oversized mechanical machine.
someone must’ve noticed and alerted
he tossed me from the garbage can.
i inquired as to why he wouldn’t do his
job and throw out the trash,
but he had already moved on to the next house.
still determined, i stuffed myself inside
a large cardboard box
(you know, the one for moving)
and threw myself into the recycling bin
ready to be reborn through the power
of great futuristic mechanical prowess.
again, someone alerted the driver
(i think my neighbor is out to get me)
and she tossed me from the box,
and with a not so subtle quip,
said: “these are supposed to be folded, dumbass.”
I had no retort.
well, i guess it’s off to the sewer drain
where i’m more than confident that
the piss and shit and rats will fully
embrace my hospitable presence.
turns out, even the rats rejected
this recycled piece of garbage.
your touch crept on me like
your lips snuck up on me like
your tongue tiptoed its way on me like
but best of all,
your passion prowled its way into my heart
and now, i’m finally living.