Finger painting.

How it feels to come alone.
tip-toeing over the internets anonymous love letters.
the way broken glass gives my feet long deep hugs.
theme songs for pets playing trash hockey with pictures
i drew when i felt something bluer than those skies
when the days had a fresh hue to them.
Like every day was 1997.


The dreamer
blowing the ballasts
on my afternoon submarine.
I am the chlorine crocodile
Floating in self loathing
and beer cans second gadget manifestation
of cigarette kamikaze receptacle.

Handsome as hammers.
i am the factory worker of your dreams.
saving frogs from street cars
and appearing negatively optimistic .
 i slumber in the sheets of the void
til a little past noon.
Wrestling with my demons leaves rest
unsatisfied.
I fall to the floor
digging in piles of dull colored
 machine washed scumbag armor.
for my first magic trick.
How to turn a boy in to a stone age smokestack.
Cromagnon man reinventing the wheel on the north side of town.
Where the weird looks
and "faggots" flows out  passing windows.

I fall in triumph
to the pavement with the thrill
of my heart beating like ten thousand,
thosand suns merged in to one small place
i get up and i go over it
again.
the hue is illuminating
i am skinned knees
and in my center.