4/30 - (Shyeah, right)

I have Picasso’s blue period all over my tongue and all I do is lick barber poles until they stop being candy canes and start being blue electric advertisements for those stores that always have what you want but it comes at a genie-swindle price. Barbers used to be doctors which meant that barbers used to bleed their customers to make them feel better. Genies are a euphemism for basements in our souls. Our greed is an escape hatch to another world where nothing bad exists. Our fantasies are a forum for lies that only speak to us in lanterns and lovers that never say the wrong thing. I have a helmet made from dreams rolled flat and lacquered into a carapace that protects me when I rush headlong into stupid, stupid intersections.

To say that my heart is a race car is a lie. To say that it is a parachute would be accurate. It only opens when it’s falling and it doesn’t slow the descent, it only slows it down and makes it land safer. I am one driving lesson away from leaving the road. My heart beats like an ambulance. My heart’s an underground river. My wish is that I get taken by aliens and brought back a better person.


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