arvx


death drives
from
the passenger seat,

my life
asleep behind
the wheel,

i haphazardly splattered
across
the back of my mind

among brain-damaged
memories
and distinct
portraits of myself

which evoke

the intellectual traits
of narcotic
meditation;

i
remain attached to the moment:

a faithful spouse
to time’s insensitive heart,

but secretly long
for summer
afternoons when
when it’s
ninety degrees
in the
neighbor’s
swimming pool
and all
the pretty girls
want to
fuck or
be kissed

“why else
would
they wear
those skimpy
tank-tops
and
shorts that
bare
hips

i want to
turn up the
stereo so loud
that they
hear my head explode
and
dance in the nightclubs
every day
of the week
and
rub against
their stretchy clothes
cheek-to-cheek;

i want to
be a
walking
faux pas of
wolf-whistles and
booty calls

and find every excuse
to bring them home
just so they don’t
have to be alone
with their pharmaceuticals”

i wholeheartedly indulge
that grandeur,

then
cut and bleed for
what seems like
days when all the world is conquered
and i play god,

too obsessed with my own religions
to appreciate the paralysis
and permanent joy of being divine.

my delusions fix
all the missed opportunities

they
are made of fables
unrehearsed
and treasures
to be unearthed

they
fill in the gaps of time
where i could only
express tiny
fragments of the whole
truth, or

be in the right place
for that
given moment,

and make the best
of living for myself alone.

dreams
are just waterfalls
of lost
inhibitions
into which
i dissolve;

words
are just cannibals
of past
confrontations
i cannot
resolve.

i do not think
or speak in
those terms;

i am a man
obsessed with
universal verbs,

and wisdom,
and rhythm,
and flow.

it feels
like ten degrees
outside
in the middle
of july
and
i
just
drink
and drive
with the
windows
down
everywhere
i go.




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