my diamond rotted

–dunno

musta been organic, ‘cause it just rotted.

(no preservatives)
 
 
Conflicted to start,

conflicted

(and faceted)

to end

it carved sparkles in rhetoric,

fool outta gold, and

just dessert in lieu of

cloying sentiment…

S’okay, tho!

I been pullin’ apart

a picket fence decoupage…

made a’ macaroni, and all the glue that couldn’t fix Krazy

eyeballin’ Yankee Doodle

noodle

by

new dull,

notin’ that spaghetti Cowboy is

sketchy as hell–

–hell, sketchy as

me

to draw a parallel that ain’t art

(like that decoupage)

…

no sirree–sorry

S’now I wear a pasta

penance

pendant.

banglin’

danglin’

s’ketti

at wrists

& corkscrews in my ears &

I don’t feel the cheesiness

near as loud, anymore,

or sense the murmur

of crowded hearts

SWOOSH-swoosh

…

SWOOSH

…

sw-

…

oosh

clatter of

fallin’ din, stainin’ like

smashed

heirloom

…

tomatoes.

my neurons

have become

agoraphobic

–they

don’t venture from location

they don’t carve out

neu

paths they

don’t seek neu

connections they

don’t network

anymore

–they

stay.

. . .

unsettled by

surrounding grey,

they peek out only

on occasion.

 
I broke so

many records,

lately,
 
 
 
 
trying to

get my deejay on,

I scratched

clean through

the vinyl

missing

hip-hop

filler elsewise,

I strummed air guitar

(something I’d picked before)

but the quiet surprised–

and unsettled

I glued shards

together…

blues, and ballads,

and most everything

in

B minor

I’ll have to start

a new collection

evenso

–a shame—

since everyone knows

it’s the old songs that move

you the most.

I don’t know

the song

of the single,

nor tone

one humbles

along…

the code

of remorse

escaping me

. . .

and dash it,

I am also uncertain

about

climate

–whether to

scale

that same model

or

repel–

it’s such

a sultry

condition.