Sniffles

Give me Love,
That most subtle needle-born disease,
Giving me reason to
Find a place to stand and be me,
That city fool, that shitty fool, who
Can’t stop grinning, can’t stop grinning.

Give me Love,
The only way I know the rails are fake and
We’re of free will.

Give me Love,
She who tells me the dull walkings
Across the crossings,
Following the followers of
That artifact of survival, Hunger,
Are holding back the panic
Of knowing there is more to do
And we’re not doing it, and
We’re just putting
Foot forward, foot in door,
Foot in mouth, foot up,
Foot on others doing
The same.

Give me time to start a rhyme,
Give me grief for being bland,
I don’t care, it’s just a means
To acknowledge thoughts
You can’t think ’til I’ve
Put them down, giving
You time to start critiquing, complaining,
Constructing a better version but
Not putting them down because
They’d be derivative.

Following the followers of
That artifact of survival, Hunger,
The Primal Queen with reason, sure:
Calamity.

Ah, to be the rocks, just
Built, broken, swept aside
To be something else every few
Eons, sure, and getting to
See it all.

Victory formation in a parking lot,
Hoping she overlooks that I’m broke as fuck,
Giving her the first of several reasons
To find someone better, and
She does, and we’re going stronger,
Forgetting that we were beside but
Not inside to start our friendship, sure,
And that should give us time to
Know our outward appearances
And all the actions, sure,
But there’s reason inside, and that
Takes time to understand, and
Takes time to dissect, to know
And roll with without complaining,
Without giving another reason more.

So many movements of these thumbs as
I try to make sense of the churning thoughts,
Refusing to let the refuse decay without being said.

Victory formation in the driveway,
Playing like we knew what would happen
But still surprised by the score.

Give me time to form a thought and watch
The words, just watch the words.

That’s what holes in memory are: watching
And forgetting and being disconnected,
Looking for another channel, rather than
Turning off and stepping out, because
We can’t, we can’t, we can only witness
And be disassociated viewers/a
Live studio audience
Refusing to participate,
And tearing up their tickets to forget
They ever wasted their time.

Sometimes the best memories are the opening act.
You just hope the encore is worth waiting for.

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