Love

You make me
want to write

a sonnet,

your hair
like a wild

chocolate labradoodle.

Dinosaur (Jr.) "The Wagon"

Who am I?

An old dead conifer
is like an old dead friend

rotting beneath the ashes.

[I won't cry this time]

I roam the damp moss
after it rains. (can you

guess what I am)?

The corpses branch out
like a thunder bolt,

A crazy bird calls
the spirit of the child.

Archeologically,

I discover the hair of youth gone
coarse like an old terrier [pissed,

(American Style].

The Great Ape walks
with an AK-47.

Capitalismo

"Good thing you can do this kind of work."

And I can shovel shit for days.

The deterioration is in my spine.

After a while the nerves in your hands die

and you can't feel anything

in the orbit of the daily sun

you are that much closer to an eclipse

of the brain, an aneurism, a stroke,

perhaps an infection through your rotting wisdom

teeth [insurance you will die before the doctor]

will bring knowledge to the city hall.

When the pearly whites of your mouth crumble

into dross, chip the slag off of your welders forearm.

Every piece of bread becomes hard like stone,

[the hand-me-down of Christ].

It would't be the first time I have been gazed upon

like I was an animal.

The Spectacle man-handling a great wooden crate.

The Great bubble of cultural capital is golden.

I can see it from the hills, a fool am I

to look in [I'm looking in].

I make movements like a wild animal.

The Saint Joe river valley is a zoo.

Three generations after a Hungarian immigrant

stepped foot on U.S. soil and my American Dream candle

can't even hold a light to your [I]rish Green.