Life’s Little Misdirections 🥀🦋

putting down the toilet seat (can you? put me down?)

putting down the toilet seat (post buffet ballad)
all will be revealed as I go off the deep end

Mission Impression part 1

From the sidelines
get a good seat
watch my origami unfold
don’t forget to take notes
my sociologist friends
if you can comprehend
insanity on a leash
boxed like a cat

grace is self-preservation

on what field my performance?
did you bring a drink, snack,
comfy blanket? ready
to be in awe? I see

that dull surprise lift eyebrows
fifteen-sixteenths of an inch

and in a moment now
mouth agape —
I can’t tell
if in awe or hungry.
eat your snack.
it may take awhile
to refine this act.
wait? you’re leaving?


Mission Reaction part 2

I should’ve been to the point.
and that would’ve been…?
Can someone give me a cue
how to act with you? in your houses?
none have visited mine.

you say something, I say something.
you walk away. do I follow?
information locks legs that sway,
hear the chorus, repeating line,
stay. stay. stay, when I want to play?

getting that I can be a bit much.
do you think it’s my choice? think,
like I have to — be in other shoes?
try walking in them. a bit big?
their invented adage, not mine.
unproductive.

instruct my cursed DNA.
information, restructure atoms, sequences
so I can come back…as what?
zebra, condor, polar bear, penguin?
I reserve the right to not lick my junk
and have access to public toilets.

Might be compelled to migrate.


Mission Projection part 3

not long. all my rights taken away.
I love my friends who are gay, swing
the other way. gender fluid could be
my style. I’m beautiful, you know? yes,
you know. over-employed, it has opened
code-doors to a lonely, clod-foot guy.

if I incorporate a sense of societal silence,
segregated boundaries realized, again. pain to near.

I was beautiful, blond, blue-eyed, tall —
from cherub to muscled, chiseled marble white.
now pigeon stained, crumbling in my Athens.
I still have my art-junk — I’ll not lick clean.

Onlookers point at a facade. I lied
and that is wrong. does it matter to you
since I’m alien to your race and ironically
not in minority, so, man-child whining
someone please place yourself in my Nikes?

a bit much, I’m getting harder to know.


Mission Unification (keep it together) part 4

insulate, isolate from perceived insult.
oh, that thing flung was said with love?
not giving anticipant public meltdown.
too proud for that. and, I never really
approached you. hope you found comfort
with a good sideline seat. it’s my final act.

I recoil from touch; friend or foe?
I really don’t know, and I forget.
and your name is…? not because
I don’t want to know. afraid to love you
and lose you like all the others who ask
how’d you get off your leash? insist,
get in an escapable box.

and I wonder, can you hear as I talk,
fill silence through and outside
societal-constructed walls? Where is
unity, your unifiers? not the spinsters.
humanity taken by gun 60 years ago?
of weapons, the greatest we lack —
financial resource and systemic philosophies
since Machiavelli to control.

hypocritical inversion, satire infused.
sorry, what joke is funny? do you even know
the division, where I squat in kennel?

world peace can bite my perfectly proportioned
rump. cut through diversion from you’re wound-up
mumbo-jumbo Trump. sorry if that sounds racist?
who taught you to respond that? how did you get
that many followers to salivate over grammatical buffoonery?
your thumb reposting nation? o-kay.

a bit off track. a bit? don’t mock me.
I’m mocking you. I’m going to be the pest
your nuclear tests cannot devastate from weighted
heels of your billion stomping boots. but know,
my DNA conditioned lifelong, too clever for that.

zombies feeding on flesh of your mediums
walk slow, can’t return love, but money
from wallets, collected from demigod employers
whose buddies rake it all back, because
what is life but stacks of red, white
and blue chips lost in the flash
of this reserved, casino life.


Unplanned: Coda

zombies dine on a buffet of hookers.
porn is bad. bran muffins are good.

putting down the toilet seat now…from where I shat.


3.2.23
Originally titled — zombies need hookers

you want positivity — fight for what is right.
segregated, clasping others mouths shut, they divided us
through social conditioning. you’re negative now, and we’re defeated.
serious, you can’t see that? won’t? right, you’re busy
thumbing that river of streaming whore buffet glut.
you’re the devil, negative.
you’re not a simpleton, just human. not positive enough.