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As we sit, on the floor,
of a typewriter report on existential malaise
With your striped shoes,
shifting comets of dust through your vomit, you cuss
and I’m honestly crushed like some Brooklyn collectivist dream.

The resent, of the world,
is casting eyes through your front door in effervescent tones,
But they don’t know
how contagious their pitchforks of pride are

you’re driving your mom’s car to work and you’re acting on weekends
to dull out the ringing in ears lent to best friends,
who disregard the bad advice they recommend.

But you are not one of those idealistic drones,
Spitting arches into half-full jars
from parched throats fueled by beating hearts.

Baby, there must be a better way,
to correct all our parents’ mistakes
while they pray to a God that they made
for us to swallow
but we were not born to follow, oh no!

Burn the transcripts of words you’ve spoken,
and we’ll hold them to your olive skin,
And while all the affluent kids are smoking,
we’ll break into their houses again.

You got your manicured fingers a-tappin’ a rhythm of hardships that you didn’t weather,

and it’s alright,

because tonight we’re all singing together.

bullet train speeding out the station, running running running
over all the little rabbits building houses for the spring
while all the passengers are twirling hands and hurling words and swirling all the ice cubes and the liquor liquor liquor in their drinks

and all the languages are full of shit and governed by the subtle slips
of tongues into each others’ mouths and orifices

the train is crashing and it’s smashing all the bodies to the floor
there’s fire raging at the station waiting stoic by the shore
but all these passengers have been caught in a burning wreck before
so save your sympathies and flowers for someone who needs them more

my favorite palindrome comes to my home with books on birds and confidence,
strapped to the legs under her dress and leads me by the hand

to pressing matters sparked by wine and broken ladders left unrung, my silent motions through your oceans only bring me drifting tides

egyptian cotton for your rotten thoughts and misplaced plans of malintent,
from knees that were made to be bent and dragged across the floor

jaded and needy, so we broke our handshake treaty made before
but is the reason for this treason company or something more?

before my words are choked I must invoke this ghost of
boyhood bravery, buried beneath the climbing trees of homes I once have known

this train we’ve boarded brings us toward loose change on rails of futures passed
and I look forward to the chorus when they reunite at last.