sitting on a fault line, skull of melted candy
smiling like a bull’s eye hologram
of a leftover jumping bush.
to scare tourists to live not to live,
when i fall always leave a hat to throw pennies in.
all the money i make bury in the red woods where they forget about wars.
in the future, use myself as money, hope i don’t get robbed
by someone more articulate with more wives,
cooking awards, when something is written has gotta be proven wrong.
but who be wrong enough to discredit my findings
i’ve been to all the zoos and liked berkeley the best.
but there’s an oil tanker approaching
so the mothers have their children paddling the island in unison.
they all get covered in petroleum
and quickly denounced as housewives
and threatened to grow into tanks and flattened the farms.
all that stands is blood and cocoa leaves.
for every uncle that drowns in offshore fishing trips
it takes a life of life insurance to pay for a funeral.
an affordable death in the final grudge match on wallstreet,
just bought a pitchfork, oh are these things still legal?
i’m here today on behalf of my own hands.
will you inherit the keys? please…just kidding.
