Plasma Clear

Rhyming practice now.

Dropping words like turds in fourths and thirds
and all this time you thought it was going to be easy

Did you have time to blink? A spot to think?
Been watching novels fly by my mind’s eye and gypsies wobble by the payphones by a conversion van that just died. They wobble vicious drunk and answer cell phones and sip from thin brown bags and drip spit foam.
Been turning music into digits and then back again.
I’ve been wobbling myself and craving oxygen. Craving a catalyst, reading Craigslist. I’ve been contrived at being trite and being sincere. I’ve been desperate and affable as a willing ear. I’ve been laughing off the end of the year.
I’ve been going thin with projects that I run from to other talents and I’ve been spitting out the butt-ends of half finished comments. I’ve made headlong slips into merriment and I’ve been deliberate. I’ve done the hokey pokey and put only one foot in it.

and all this time you thought it was going to be easy.

I have a few friends and I’ve had a few beers and all the same, caught in a leer, it’s never easy, not even when it’s plasma clear.

Want to see someone get past the end of world nights if that’s even what she’s having, talking herself down until she finds a place worth landing.

Had a meeting with black beetle written glyphs on his back just under skin
we go we light small fire, we meet them there we make small thunder
we play at going louder we dress up like gunpowder with a swagger and a shatter or a hairline fracture on the champagne flute at the party where they let us in
we make strong magic we wobble on legs of aspic and put the strong smile big teeth up in front
to take the heat
Like Dr. John, we walk on gilded splinter
full of shit, sir
indeed.
We hope, we try, to grow on you like a weed.