Like a striped pair of pants

A NOTE: Proof of my insanity... like you needed any more.

Like a striped pair of pants I come towards you Leaning on the railing So I don’t fall down Clowning around like a drunken fish I speak to you Wondering, searching, screaming inside For the right word to appease you, to mend you, To enjoy you, to love you, I rage inside, My senses vie for power, some sly humor I’ve thrown in And you laugh. I rejoice. You look at me funny. I scramble again for something swift to follow that will fix it. That doesn’t work? Change the topic! Blow it off like it doesn’t mean anything through self-deprecation! We’re comfortable. Oh yes, we’re talking now. Topics are coming easily enough. So now what happens? Do I reach for your hair? Not unless there is a pretext. What to do… I’m in love with you, but I can’t say it or show it. You’ll be freaked out, like the others were. I’ll be quiet. Aren’t we great friends? Couldn’t we be more? No. I already know the answer. It looms over everything, predictably, like an epoch in time. Dream… yes, I dream. I used to enact them. Occasionally, some magic returns. I am not all card tricks. But my dreams slowly constrain. My dreams are not as fragile now. That is mostly because I don’t dare to dream as far as I used to. They were beautiful things, made of crystals and silk, beams of light and emotion, Perched precariously, almost as if I willed them to be too far-fetched to fly. Now they crouch lower, they’re made of more metal and coal, at least the ones I think will work. However, the old obsolete models haven’t shut down production. Metal. I love metal. Why? It glints, it’s heavy, it’s malleable. I’ve picked it up all my life. I’d wear metal if I could, indeed, I carry around my metal keychain and wallet with too much change. Washers, keys, coins, locks, ball bearings, tire weights, and just little scraps of it. Holding metal feels natural, as if I had an inborn knowledge of metal that needed no prompting. The Universe. How big is it? What’s it do? Who lives there? Why was it made? Where are we in it? Does it matter? Scarecrows, taxidermists, politicians, cowboys, Indians, glass blowers, Greek Gods and men in coyote suits Are they real? What do they make? How can they think so? Steel workers, coal miners, mercenaries, bridge builders, telephone operators, flight attendants, and pianists How could they not be real? Great men lie in shallow graves all over the world. Heroes. Legends. Failures. Fools. Average everyday people. Women too, don’t get me wrong. They all had no monuments. They left no great words to be said. Their deeds were unsung. Their lives cut short. Their suffering unheard. Does it matter? I have lived. I shall live. I am alive. I have loved. I will love. I am love. Do not underestimate the power of lunch. Oh, many are the people who speak of breakfast, but I can tell you, we all need lunch. Lunch keeps your power going. Without lunch, we are nothing. Sleep me wake, not slumber dry death. Wetness pervade the small escalade Trade in the wade for your shade. All of our horses and all of our women Leaving for east west south north down up diagonal Lives entrusted, brains encrusted, Broken dreams and tables rusted Eat the fruits that you have sown, For now, my friend, they are full-grown And ripen by the day. Sleep in comfort, or in pain, All is lost, and nothing gained Drained away by Valhalla’s bane. Don’t eat me, I’m too thin. I’m too tall. I’m too smart. I’m too forgetful. I’m too musical. I’m too poetic. I’m too tired. I’m too maddened. I’m too…. Oh forget it, eat me. Wait, come back! Tonight I end the fight the right to speak the words of my delight My world shall pass I’ll walk on glass into the fire and also mass The death shall be a thousand fold, the increments of icy cold Justifying, mesmerizing, patronizing, sympathizing, despising the rising sizing of wising. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH Tremble. Shudder. Shiver. Convulse. Panic. Die. Leech. Shriek. Squeak and creak and scream and caress and slither and thither and tomato and potato and Sarajevo and botany and all I see about myself is confusion and waste and despair and haste and simple oily smarmy toxic icky nasty slimy gooey freaky insane cramping angled cracking sore annoying worn beaten tired drooping killing vilesome deadly bastardizing rhombitruncated icosadodecahedron. Mark Burton 2/4/01 Sunday 2:40 A.M.