Father's Day

I am tired of the ring and ding of southern tunes I hear from the trembling tears I put past my head.

And tired of the tacky talkers, trying to put me in tangy tingles of interest.

I am tired of the ladies and lady man and me and the ladies after aflutter me or staring deep into the nothingness of my apathetic eyes.

I am tired of the 8s and 12s and 16s.

I am tired of the lately lacking lakes of grumbles and am tired of barks of my sheep

I am tired of the stomp downs of the tightly tied shoes smacking the black soul of the outer space classified empty rooms, and burnt marks of cancer.

I am tired of the tribal known second home baby girls that look at the love I, me, myself, alone have strove the deadly dense cliffs for. That my ancestors couldn’t even stand for, uncomfortable, pretentious, mediocrity. They have nothing to offer my attitude anyways.

I am tired of the fitting in, rooms that I have barely seen.

The frighten, whacked whales I touch their backs and they want me.

Their underage, under blankets, under stars, under me, for they see with the same eyes as the man I used to carry in the smallest space of my empty place of heart. Chance to see, maybe see, with the slight inst-o-matic sight gifted to just me, of me, by me, for me. And glancing the ganders of opportunity of the name that has drove originality to causeless rebels, is no shock factor that I am blind.

The fire burning the child’s idealistic hope for home, and hunched back fight the talk backs, and the drunken tacks. The arrested, owner ship of me. Not owning up to my intensely underestimated, decorated thoughts of gasoline.

Play, roll, in gigantic scenery of dramatic moments that lifted my sanctum monument, that took the t to cross as if Jesus said, ‘hey, fuck you Andrew, you mess of loathed thoughts that have shook the condom right pass fault’

and took the bird from the coop, coping the shaking out burst of Kaufman’s one true checker, cheddar chaser and leaving the awe to fall and turn to the amateurish night.

Yet the redundant state still can’t sleep and feed the nostalgic light.