FAKE YOUr OWn Death

FAKE YOUr OWn Death

–

–

like a wind-up toy whose feet catch

and whose plastic parts seize,

 –

tapping on the table

a tiny tune of tragedy,

–

and when the child’s eyes

sallow with A.D.D.,

–and wander for turkish delight–

 –

and when the cat

misplaces his interest,

–his white kid gloves–

 –

Whir away.

Unstick your molded feet

and whirr away. Off the

table with a mighty clatter that

fetches Anna the dog. Whirrr away

under the sofa

Where you’ll build your Eldorado of dust

And wear your fruit loop head piece,

And finally find time

to make (your own) believe.

tha blu projektor screeen

tha blu projektor screeen

it grwos beofre my eyes

egdes expnadnig

 –

theer’s a cluod of blu

aurond it, vauge

is it a windoh? A p­­–o-ol?

 –

–tha profsseor’s shaodw

thowrn dacning llike demons carwling outt of tha f-eye-r

danm drity walplaper

 –

Screeming

–it-‘s flat

 –

Eye’m thowrn intu m’I seet

llike comnig ouwt of tha rabit whole

backwords

Welcome, Here I Am

This is the first post. There are many to come. What does one say in a first post except welcome and, perhaps, here I am?

Here I am; here to write.

Welcome.