Abhourous vessels and the fool speaks in rhymes and doodley-doos
Just to play another puzzle
And get sad
When the moderator floods
To say – do something else.
The connection is just fine.
And I’m the breached whale waiting for another sign to do.
When the list litters out.
And suddenly keyser-soze creativity
Has ushered into task-managing range.
And I felt a little hiccup-of-happy just to see
The sun bellow down
And the raindrops start to flow.
The grey cat sleeps on windowsill
And I told her in tunes
That Leroy the Lizard
Sat there too
Because you can listen to the speaker’s vibration.
Just like my desk, or chair, or laminate floors or bedframe.
I feel more confident than ever
And pretty is making me sick for work I’m jealous of
When I wore pink frames.
Tired of awards,
None of my parents hung them up but stowed the plaque-plagues and ribbons away,
The trophy is always donated for some glass-wall convenience box
Of someone’s hallowed tomb of
“I was really good at sports.”
And I wasn’t that no, not in public school.
I was the mathlete, chess team, academic derby on local c-spanic tv.
And they thought I couldn’t read.
Fucking racists.
I still carry a backpack and gotta tell you I’m filipino.
At least the locks are long and twisty and I gotta pile them on my head
To stay cool in this humidity and heat.
Turn the nuclear-fan off
For a little break of space-age-vacuum livin’
5 miles to Sun on the 31st and fishing pole to grab a piece of the Moon.
Asian-Motherlanders know; the world pretty small,
When you climb vertical.
Touch the stars,
This moldavite meteorite will make a great vase,
For a waste
Of pens I don’t use anymore.
Because my wrist never recovered from 18 journals in 3 years.
And I still feel you tuggin’ on +your+ lock of hair that’s mine.
Your little corner anxiety toy.
Better than busted beaded balls and my
Cuckoo-momento-souvenior
Fits perfect in my pockets on my keys.
And I instinctively grabbed it when the dryer was out.
Reliving squandered lifetimes of Laundromat’s Past.
And suddenly it’s been 3 weeks I’ve craved Sweet + Sour Sam Bo
And Shrimp w. Lobster Sauce
And no-one-wants to cater.
Burgers, not better.
But perfect, for the fever.
It’s the end-of-Summer.
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