kid without a... -- domino's won't answer their phone the shades grow daily touch the shoulder art is a grain cereal music is national public radio mother left a new message about life about dissapointment and i heard the glass hit her reciever throughout weather is a western movie the hero dies on his horse in the beginning credits in technicolor poetry is fantastic it lays on my chest like an angry dog it jumps rope over its repeating bars my family is wetting my answering machine but they foam on about the stock market "the carpet needs a haircut" my hat sticks to me, a redheadded stepchild partly cloudy high of fifty seven cream corn winds from the east took the weekend off odds one to one stacked like phonebooks from manhatten against you the photograph is bloodshot and i never have the shakes i never have the shakes video killed the radio star what? what the my girlfriend's on hold for 8 weeks the red light wont leave me alone last i heard she left me for a mailbox or she left me in the drive through standing with the static asking me my order i haven't been good to the living i have been worse in the graveyard picking on the dead's signs of illness my closet is robes for us alter boys i'm hitting up the offering shooting for alcohol poisoning my kid brother's a poet an angry firecracker a "pulse, pulsing" and my envy racks my sleep my car calls my name to the broken moon dying in that city my telivision has learned to pray it does so throughout the morning before the sun the sun has learned to hiss at me the bathroom light learned to be dark the paino learned to sing out of tune for me in tune for an eight year old wild haired son pop radio pop radio i know the words to the gingles i learned how to throw the telivision everyday is april 13 every day is friday so there is no weekend every day is thursday so there is no end my grandmother died on her anniversary of our relationship between pals i don't know her middle name every day is wednesday gives the cute people an excuse to say hump day everyday is tuesday so nobody can play a violin and nobody can say hello and nobody can use their mailbox it is a postal holiday which sounds like an occasion of crazed blue uniform murder can you imagine the multitude? a postal holocost which in time becomes routine becomes page d17 in tuesday's gazette the love of a spirit is unique like loving those that died from drinking when they show at the bar to knock off the edge and swallow past their invisible liver it is a scorched future it is a desk drawer full of proof every day is monday a manic/depressive mon-day whoa imagine imagine the funeral of imagination the memorial of creativity the procession for poets birth is your first day of dying and this seems drab to people the cornered shivering rabbits paling to the idea but it is easy to say "kid without a voice" my trash can is a robot the outdoors are on fire ambition is taking a power nap my circle of friends is addicted to drugs addicted to circles poetry is a rehab center beelzebub smokes cigarettes out on the front stoop salesman of fluorecent lightbulbs knocking on my door