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our parallel paralysis
sucking on your dumb tongue's drug
four fingers and a thumb about your pulse
a handful's enough to sculpt a dream from
leaning over backwards into yoga haiku
of realignment where the spine meant
to declare intent of upper level thinking
i'll be anaerobic amidst you suffocating fools
with your disparate schools of ideology
ink blot me a personality out of doggerel
and i'll mop up the grease on your plate
from cooking down the gristle of our aftermath
into lyrics and toothpaste for vampires
some haitian hate pins your voodoo down
spider webs in your eyes like dreamcatchers
that keep your soul rooted not pulled through
input a new disease at the terminal terminal
continuance is just an adjunct a spiritual cul-de-sac
they'll bury us under a meaningless plaque
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OK, I know I don't GET it, but I find myself in love with it nevertheless. Perhaps, it is the quirky sardonic sarcastic tone quality of the piece juxtaposed to an intangible tenderness implied by the last line using the carefully placed word, "us". This one is getting bookshelved. - Leah
