the party (the first poem that isn't about you)

bourbon bumble bees.
locust congregation in the cold,
underwater kitchen.
so dense it is opaque.

Red hangs dead on her feet,
rag doll on a stiff pole-
pierced right through.

a Clown tips on a broken axis;
equilibrium absent.
louder than the loudest siren,
more extroverted than
saturn's outermost ring.
more extroverted than
the external stratum corneum.

Dreadlocked, professional drinker;
self-talker, performer.
i don't know if i've ever seen him
sans drink in hand.

THAT KID who's falling apart.
brain so altered (but temporary,
TEMPORARY!)
and completely uncontrolled.
cognition: unreachable.
definitely shattered.

plutoid

it's a secret that
i desperately wish you'd ask
me to spend this day with you.
it's a secret even to myself
but i hope, somehow,
you hear it.

yet i must remember
that you are nothing more
than a pretty face.

next,

symbolism: my ipod sitting
on my bed all day.
it means i never stepped a foot out the door
from 12am to 12am.

and i still can't sleep properly.

magnetism

i think
every one of our particles
and even the particles that make up our particles
each have a magnetic charge.
and in a collective majority
(for some of our particles do not match),
our forces, opposite but strong,
attract each other fiercely
in an eternal bind;
forces too strong to pull apart.

magnetism must explain this lack of self control.