Written on Not quite October

Drone on a phone,
drones on phones,
everywhere,
everywhere.

I try to smile,
sometimes I say, "Hi,"
but all of the drones pass me by.

Do any of you drones care?
It's hard to see that you are aware,
when you sit and stare.

Drone on a phone,
drones on phones,
everywhere,
everywhere.

You sit and stare,
and sometimes you buzz,
when I think I am alone.
I say, "Hey drone, you're not alone!"

And all I hear is a moan,
while they put away their phone.
And beware.

Drone on a phone.
Drones on phones,
everywhere,
everywhere.

They say:
We don't know why.
Do you know why?
Must we all die?

We try to cry.
We try to cry.

And I think,
maybe I am alone.
I sit and I stare,
knowing that it isn't fair.

I don't know why.
Do you know why?
Must I die?

I try to cry.
I try to cry.

Because I know I will die,
and they will die
and we will die.

And I will become
a
drone on a phone.
Drones on phones,
everywhere,
everywhere.
And you will become
a
drone on a phone.
Drones on phones,
everywhere,
everywhere.
 Beware.

Groan.

(Groan.)

Nobody wants to keep trash inside
so they lock a box up outside
to dump the junk they find.
These boxes are collected
by big trash contractors
who carry keys for the excrement boxes.
They shoo away the Ones
who seek treasures with the tons
who can't afford fun.
The workers pretend to care.
The managers say, "it isn't fair!"
The CEO's stare.
And Stare.
The people of the world continue to dare
to steal underwear;
that was cast out blindly
by the hand of the worker mindfully
dreaming they had the money
for the nice, brand new panties
(defective-due-to-a-single-hole).
Tuck the panties away in the corner of the garbage
box that stays
locked.
Until the never-ending trucks come
to whisk it away
to
where more workers conspire
to set the system that captured them on fire.
But at night they're too tired. And;
in the morning they're worried that they will get fired.
So it goes.
And
So it goes.
And
So it goes.

(groan.)

I would rather melt

I never get a moment to myself

when I am home.

Sometimes I lock myself up.

But when I do

There is always someone pounding on my door

Asking for more

(Of me?)

Often

I would rather melt

Than respond.

Surprise banana

My 

eyes focus

 wide on the black screen as I smell my own dirty hair. I would like to properly wash it

But I don’t have access to the water temperature that I desire.

I am full of discomfort this morning. All I have is discomfort stacked tall up to the ceiling,

The roof of my brain.

I crack

And creak

As I sit and move my head from left

To right-

To left.

Somehow,

 I woke up this morning;

I woke up and

I was naked,

Groggy,

Foggy

And disoriented.

I turned over to get used to the bright atmosphere fighting with my windows.

And There was a half-eaten banana perched on my pillow next to me.

I blinked

and opened my eyes to try to understand reality again.

I didn’t end up finishing this particular banana,

Though it did look fine

Still Mostly covered in rhine.

I moved the banana slowly from my pillow to

The table with a sigh.

I ate half of a grapefruit instead.

The banana is still half-consumed, and staring at me from my bed-side table.

I shudder when I look at it…

As it becomes blacker and blacker,

But instead I dream about toast covered in pesto,

Homemade-home-fries,

Epic Spinach-onion-mushroom-tomato-avocado-omelettes

And Big veggie benedicts covered in hollandaise sauce.

Mmmm, internal cry,

And Sigh

To My tired

 eyes.

Formed into an addict

He sucked a bit of my soul from my shoulders and then a bit more from my neck. I shivered at every thrust and every pump of myself into him.

                I was formed into an addict after the orgasms ceased and I found reality again.

“Hey,” I whisper into the empty kitchen.

The sounds echo

And the waves vibrate my face.

I roll my neck, causing crackles to

Surge through my muscle strings.

I remember

And remember

And yearn

And remember.

I yawn, becoming annoyed with my own thoughts,

My own dreams.

Twisting my torso to relieve the stiffness.

Cringing my face.

Moaning strange, child-like sounds aloud

To the cat.

Patting my fat

Sitting

Down

Getting lost in false angst.

                Need to go to the library

 Want to go to the moon

Need to go to the bank

Want to leave the country soon

Need to wash my clothes

Want to make it June

Character Piece

The sun and the moon have made me a fool.
I am merely a tool;
a character piece
with holes.

Sometimes the moon makes me a troll.
Sometimes the sun makes me a mole.

They both make me wonder about fame...
"what is it like to always be blamed?"
Says the trained
one.

The sun and the moon know I am a tool
because I am merely a fool
and so are you.
A character piece
with holes.
A drone on a phone,
trying not to feel alone,
made of bones
and moans.
So it goes.
and goes.

Tree Person

Tree people