I am a blurred picture on a carton of spoiled milk resting upon a ziggurat of decaying rubbish.
My guffaw: neither true nor charming-
It is an overcast Cleveland.
From many evenings last to many evenings future,
I am there; forever will be.
I am a thermos without a lunchbox.
Put your arm around me-
let us steal this moment.
I will cherish it and many more; They are my skyward idols.
My heap is rummaged through by a starving and bed-less one.
His last breath stinks of ethanol. And inconsequence.
My alley: my home: my raison d'etre-
We are all here; or maybe just you and I.
All that there is is all that there is.
I ask for nothing more than more of all that there is.
I am in a technicolor prison atop discarded 8 tracks.
I am a smile for the camera.
There is no camera.
Away to the far-
I will travel light-
The Great Wall is a bunch of Legos.
I am a speck in the distance- a molecule orbiting nothing in the vastness of space,
But I am where I want to be-
Under a false umbrella-
pelted by the acid
and the rain.
I gaze around with eyes that sting;
A-look for anyone-
Anyone like me.
There are so many false umbrellas: So many like me.
We are all blurred pictures on cartons of spoiled milk.