you're off bowling tonight.
i know this
because i rang,
entirely tits up
from too many beers
and a few after-work joints.
tomorrow, i'll go see
some elitist four chord playing
indie band. i'll peer at university delinquents
enthralled at the idea of music being their only saviour
against the crush of this. all of this.
it's become one endless transaction to me.
it's become sucking up to the boss, enquiring
what i may do next to climb the dollar ladder.
i'm this and that and fully a go-get'em tiger.
hear me growl. hear me acknowledge
a superior order.
meow is all i am right now. static
is what this city thrives on. static
and faded goodnights. static
and unwashed semen-covered blankets.
a selfish fuck. a free love romp. another angle
to this big bang theory prescribed by scientists.
i often will these days to turn into meteorite showers.
flash floods. earthquakes to level these mountains
into boulders. for arctic terns to visit my corner.
to tell me what they know of thermals and bright blues
and the red of sunsets beyond drying tundra.
hunt for all of this with me. paint each ceiling
with exclamations picked out from the oxford dictionary.
become another byron and swim an impossible channel.
survive. but surrender. glide. but drown
in the inferno.
you're off bowling tonight. and here,
i am warm and sleepy and finding the eternal.
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Submission Name: bright blues versus semen-soluble blankets
