[dis] [com] b [ob] u l a t i o n s

habitual breakup

Embarrassment often lingers longer than we’d like it to.

You know how unhealthy it is

Yet you can’t seem to shake yourself of it.

Replaying these moments passed is how we live.

Operating on the fact that our habits

are ingrained in our memories, muscle and mind,

You have to understand that

We are machines too. And just like machines

We can break.

And we make them how we like it:

Over easy, scrambled, toasted, and shaken

Not stirred.

You’re too easy

To get caught

Up in this hype.

Relapse, relax

And trick yourself to let it go.

shits been done

shits been long done so many times over

over call foul spread them stick up them

holy mother fucker. holy. slowly wholly. 

the flowers of evil ain’t got nothing on this shit. 

everyones trying to do the same fucking thing, but no one can find the right way to put it

hard put to it. jingle. pickle juice. plum cakes for breakfast

i do not believe that you actually know more than i do. 

back-to-back. head-to-head. side-to-side.

living to linger. fucking linger a little longer wont you

just trying to get

laid, inlaid by gloomy 

poor old bloom. 

catch a tiger by its tail

pin it on the rump. hump

catching air, in passing

hickory artificial smoke

tempting but get just a whiff

rub the little bump. not only

always a bit too soon to tell

heel toe heel toe heel toe heel

fake. fake fake fake fake fake fake fake

slip slip no slip slip slip no slip drip drip 

piano piano forte forte pppppffffffffff

try going outside

without knowing that to look is to tell.

there was a raging outside 

from a distance too far away from sight

Listen harder but still can’t pin it down

how did these words become so ugly? 

and how did our desires grow so small?

table manners, forks and spoons

is it not enough? all of it together tea for two

was recommended the split pea soup.

while still holding a grudge as the waiter walked away

but wasn’t he waiting so calmly still? 

wasn’t he just thrilled to know 

that what is there to know is 

all that is in front of you, napkins, plates

the padded silverware, safeguard, child’s lock

doodles upon doodles of tics and toes

bananas and lamborghinis

oh matzo ball soup, aren’t yah too big to fit

in my cup?

Was in it for the sport

in it for the game of tag 

of war. Kings beat the Queen beats the Jack.

but your spade’s 

just a spade, no less than a clover is

just a scalloped blade of grass. 

With the plug in for your ears, arrears

muddling the plunge. french-cut-manicured nails

capsizing into that slick sheet

the thick body of the water. 

She was only seventeen. the CI’s done ruined her hair.

her sickly toes, a contortionist’s fetish, seizes tightly 

to its losing grip

the moving body that ceases

not to escape her. 

But going back

back to the sport. They conform,

Beauty! Height! Breath!

They sink and emerge as one

a single body. Link by link, 

not like sausages but like chains

they release with grace, and care

and ease gently back to their upright states.