Afternoon Pages 8.5.09

King Procrastination
next lifetime
my math scores
will still be like pulling teeth

from a jack-o- lantern
yeah and spiting seeds of frustrated contempt
perhaps not so bitterly
as before
and will my art be better?

Will I fall like a ton of bricks over Niagra
for romantic songs
and come hither
eyes

another body
breaking like a barrel
on the rocks

silent cry of bubbles
and no more fidgeting
with belt buckles and bra straps
just water filling in the nostrils
and behind the eyes

dreaming of
a paper cup
outstretched to
a giraffes
tongue
cold fries
and a blue balloon
of helium
on my wrist

the silent movie
laughs
as the child me
does his Chaplin-esque
stagger

to old age and wisdom
the grandparent
the elder
the master
of illusions and traditions
gauze and gleam

I want the circus peanut
to be good for ever
but it can't
taste that way for ever
even if it never decays

because my tongue will

like ginger bread
ever slower
and more convoluted simpleton
eye buttons
to weep sprinkles
and cough marshmallow
just in
time to leave the afternoon
and drive into
evening
like a commuter
who is feeling the pang
at another day slipping through fingers

working for someone else
with his heart
not in his desk
but lost somewhere in the paper clips and attachments

between the drive way and the parking lot

and all the coffee
and bagels
and early morning radio laughter
can't coax the acid in the gut
to abate

as the roar of routine
deafens
like waves
that wash skulls like shells

and abrade our glass edged
hearts into granny glass
thoroughly salted

chewy
tough
tender
calloused

euphamisms
for life
like
slow motion popcorn

that night butters up
and hungrily devours
from all recall

of calendar days
blog entries

a digital
farting breath

to wiff on after we die
or kill off the coders
with wry vernacular