Nosh posh b’gosh

Manicotti shells stuffed with cheesy lies

Chop suey is a song about suicide

Salted foods were invented to

Feed the soldiers on the front lines

And don’t forget the Canaanites

Sodium and sugar chemical treat

Polyunsaturated fats

Apples grow right on the trees

But your bible says we can’t eat that

It’s called organic because the pesticides are natural

The malls will panic in dust when ostracized learn factuals

My shopping cart deals

using the same

Plastic wheels

As the post next to my hospital bed

With a tube in my arm

and a bag full of heals

Whose marketing drips into my head?

Let them see you

Out there on distant shores

There’s a new breath waiting too

When you cross through a door

Leave It closed behind you

I’ve seen the world and made my beliefs

Don’t be held back by my negativity

There’s a world inside that little head

For the sun and moon to see

If you hold it all inside instead

Oh the humans lost opportunities

May you discover why we are lucky to be free

And open up more eyes with

What words inside can be

Test results

I knew with a glance

Nervous (upscale)

Fleeting

Yet so lasting the impression (lucky)

That one day I’d be crying into an pillow

Over you (privileged)

With all that we’d build (well heeled)

and produce

(Opulent) Life

These things that we need

to keep

us (Silver spoon)

together

Would push us apart (prosperous)

Funny now that a diagnosis puts us

To that first day that (affluent)

First scared glance from a young girl

(Cancer) back into my heart

 

Corporate lunches

Cause it was on dalton street just around the corner and had dollar burgers and dollar beers on Thursdays at noon

I went in there too

There is Bucky Keyes whose father or uncle or 2nd cousin played a sax in the rolling stones boy he was somebody as he said stupid things and looked confused all day with his expensive camera lenses and loose fitting clothes, bright red hair and forced grin.

There is Pats McGee who played in a band in the 70s drove a carpet walled van full of pot head groupies boy was he somebody with his squeaky clean long grey hair crooked beard line, spaces between all his teeth a man who wished he had authority but only had cliche stories

There is wall eyed Mike who used to play drums in a queer punk rock band the fudge tunnels boy was he somebody with his brown teeth and creepy stubble suspenders and mustard stained tees.

They’re all looking at me, half hour lunch break til a quarter to three

I’m trying to kill a fly as the sweat drips off my beer, the walls are blood red and I don’t hear a sound I know I need to write myself out of these

Boy am I nobody but I don’t buy into their “thank god it’s Friday” kind of freedom

Bleed forever

As I trace the edge

Of the diamond with my teeth

I can’t even _ cut my eyes _ see

The beauty that they sold to me

No longer concerned with simple things

Comfort. Sustenance. The food they bring…..

She brushes her hair and contemplates a pony tail

She likes to be pretty but doesn’t know

What the boys even see

Elk Grove Dairy Queen

When you walk the world

Perfect titles in your mind

never finding pictures that coincide

The only thing I have left of you are the scars you left in mine

Tonight a Polaroid under cicada hums

Flight after flight the planes

People they go and come

We fixed a mess until it was broke

Unfair jury selection

a pelican who birds above our hope

Midwest ice cream Confessions

When you stop the world

Perfect lyrics in your mind

Never finding the music

On the road ever which it hides

The suburbs are where we forgave

The power lines give off the whine

Dumb poets forget how to shave

Remember the women they’ve left behind

While you talked I gathered quarters

We would need to wash the car

All the bugs in the grill

and the blood that is still

And the rhythm of that blues guitar