I’ve got to get the new.

I’m crying and laughing at the same time,

I’m suffering elation—

am I exhausted?

Will I be out of ruined breath and disease fantastic

When at your station I’ve began

With the dreamcast plastic picture

Of my ruined mind?

NOW I’ve got to be hidden—love

Is something I don’t talk about.

I love love

But I am not brave.

I only want to climb the mountain,

I only want to keep the puddle of youth at my bidding—

As the undone buttons of my favorite top,

At my bedside? In a pilljar?

I evil wink at you.

I bait my master at will,

I calmly despise when I despise, and

I’m heavy.

When I pass you do you think of me

As much as I do you?

Because I do think of you, I’m thinking of you right now

I’m imagining who you are

But not failing to ignore developing characteristics.

You are not rattling

Like the harbor snake.

You are not rattling

Like any snake—like

The wet treat,

The potion I’ve smuggled off the witch,

The gigantic waterfalls just outside my bedroom window

(I swear they’re there).

I’ve got a fetish!

I’ve got an undone collar

I’ve got Buddha waking up beside me asking me for mushrooms.

Babydoll,

I like it when your hair gets greasy.

It’s not about

The anticipation

Of you singing in the shower

It’s because

Your hair

Is greasy.

I’ve got to get the new!

I’m going into the forest now

I’ve seen the endblues enlightenment

I’ve been killed each time I’ve been put to bed—like

I’m a baby in the crib I had to save up to buy

Like I’m a baby in the crib I just happened to fall asleep in.

I’m going into the sky now

I can see everything but myself

And not knowing

What I look like

Is extreme.

I think of myself but I only feel concept.

I think of you and I think of home

And I’m frightened.

I grieve the death of this era;

I have funerals for myself at every passing—

Kinda like ending this book and writing a new one,

Not closing a chapter.

Kinda like

I’m filled of books

And kinda like

I’m crying

And laughing

At the same time.