The Poetry Of.
Lynze................................................................
cell less
i always thot that was the way to go
can't mess w/me if you can't reach me
now, i'll never know the name
but i should be comforted in the knowledge that i
will not be paying for the convenience of microwave
radiation cancer in my hip
pocket. no don't
text me, don't tone me, don't try to get me
when i'm lounging on the beach or engaged in nefarious
activities best carried on, at minimum, behind
closed doors, for i am on the evolutionary
decline. i don't wear thongs or skirts
with no panties & i've always
thot jessica simpson looks like a daughter
of homer's-one of the ones
he didn't know about, maybe with that alien
who kidnapped him sometime in the nineties -
-and lately she & britney look as if the masks
are about to shatter
into four million bite pieces which they'll gobble like
the cake daddy and kevin and nick never let
them eat,even at birthday parties,
their own cuz they were way too busy being starz
to go to anyone else's which is why now
everytime jessie's phone rings her eyes get as wide
as the first time she realized he meant to stick
that thing in her mouth.
your lips smell like raindrops
3 cigarettes later
i come down the wing's
silverado promise-less
than ideal. but lately
my hands turn to cellophane
the small screw in my eye-
glasses associates with gods & walls
of music cocoon me. in june we'll
marvel in the triptych to your mind:
*cold wind over trestle
*sherpa tresses at the lakeside.
*a trained cactus eats a tortoise.
mud burns on the bay's bottom,
spanks the pebbles black. i've slid
down the same dirt as you, but not
in this weather. khazakstani
demons uzi your dreams.
when you wake your eyes
have turned from blue to green.
mornings
when i can come back to bed
and watch your tangled eyelashes
the fast stroke of rem
your lips
your lips
your lips
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