my lil housefire

schedule has been mad hectic. i mean forget the fire. before that. been pulling long days on two gigs because payroll dried up in my own company. cuz expected investment funding did not come through as we imagined would be a given. but that’s life and you better be ready to tuck and roll at all times. better be ready to spear your way home using three tiny tines. store your secret fuel in the paper fold lines.

i’m tired of smelling things. tired of a nose that stings. tired of soot and tired of what i use to cover up soot. stressed with the olfactory free-for-all. blessed with sudden weeks of free fall. want to turn it on cuz i won’t land soft. want to tear the roof all the way off, call down the gods of wind and rain. want to sandblast my home free of all particulate stain. want to sift my home softly into my 8th grade yearbook. roll up the calendar and cook. fold life into an origami spliff and smoke everybody’s favorite book. burn down their lunch plans. ride the smoke twists all across this land.

now, schedule is not hectic. now, schedule is surreal. a stiff, searing wind has unhinged the last tinge of strange. good. nothing more i hate than bad pretend game. etch a sketch cowboys cackling on the static starch range. ya tin man itinerary with his fabricated vision scheme. but these days are wild, thorn-ridden, sticky, blooms of kush cream. time to unreel the rosebush and dream. time to unrise the scanshine. ovulize the nodvious. grind blind, black eyed susan between the teeth, between the thighs, aquatic moon eggs clenched in a five fingered pearl-studded sun rise.

hatch if ya wanna get free. dance if ya gonna walk with me.