Happy Corner Space

Is anyone listening?
The Earth is crumbling
like demented old ladies,
I want the bourgeois happy meal, of pinot burning burgundy on my rooftop.
What a chuckle to find myself
Starring myself in the headlining act,
With a brightly painted light scheme,
Loud visions of tangerine,
Happy corner space calls my name,
On loud speakers, in my free wander,
My fish-out-of-water intuition,
something is crumbling, what is it?
A crackly lisp dialect,
Disregard subjects,
Lift me like new knowledge,
Like when I learned what keraunothnetophobia meant
(To fear the fall of satellites),
And I flew high over heels over that ridiculous invasion
of endless stretched space, and time,
my own dimensions signified bronze tongues,
musical riffs, colorful snacks, and dinner party stiffs,
consume us.
Chronicle these nothing days,
Endless days of gamma rays,
what will get you out of bed?
Empty cycle parched by old highs,
Over-stimulated and lonely nights,
It’s a sleep-masking life.


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