i couldn’t find

you didn’t tell,
and, hell, i didn’t care —
except you teased
my launch to mars,
called it ‘kiddy kar’,
like i’d stolen mercury
and misaligned your star. yah,
i’m impossible.

you reinvented your history,
like a last month’s christmas tree,
bangling oggles, stretched out wooble:
wooden wingless wigs on trump’s fedora —
i implore ya not to get too hip intensitied,
cause mr. leprosy has got your back.

and, i’m so mellow here in porkland,
watching pigs roll down the feathered hill —
chilling with the leprechauns and demons,
such a fright. and, nights are wizard,
with each drop from fremont bridge
into the frigid willy-met: splash of skum
presents on stage the final biosphere,
and we’re rejected for the future
we’ve just passed.

you didn’t kiss, and, well,
i wouldn’t tell you how to shoot;
your girl’s a fool for masturbating when
you’re raving in the rust belt far and gone;
getaway, to contemplate the station
guide in some small world of plasma space —
learn things we thought we thought were worthless: grin and glow.

if i must pick apart the slivers of my memory,
pinch each punctured line and redefine
what’s life or art; what kept us far away —
replace the sadness meat of history, of you and me,
with something smileable to play me while you’re
puking in the bar.

i didn’t tell you how so beautiful you looked last night;
i forgot to bring the orchid for your wedding gown —
i’ve often felt i should adore you more, to be polite,
but, polite’s what the clown tripped over, leaving town.

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