welcome to

I have super powers. I know you and feel you and have felt you even before you were alive. I am off my medication and going home to get stoned. I’ll see poppies and turning drying racks. I’m craving Vonnegut and quiet. I’m no transfers and all train lines and a watchful eye. I’m history in the making. I’m all your shame and guilt and mine and the waves to wash it all away. I’m the perfect disguise and I’m screaming. I’m Pablo and fat booties and ray bans and iPhones and blows of cocaine. I’m dreads in a lost and found. I’m Eraser Head with your family. You’re not even you when I look at you. You’re a plaid shirt in a uniform self-prescribed.  You’re requirements without legal action. I’m your tapping foot and the all holy triple hat beat. I’m a kick in the face and new trainers. You’re in the way. You’re all in the god damn way. I’d scream if I thought it’d do anything and by anything I mean grace in silence and move to clear. I’m your little blind beast. You're blisters, I’m the god damn sun. I’m video games and slaughter houses and Sunday dinner but not Sunday mass. I’m everything you don’t even know you want to be. I’m an all white jumpsuit, fresh as can be and a parachute and the air inside holding you up, drifting you down like babes do to storks.  I’m a smirk you’ll never understand. I’m knowledge. A dictionary. I’m underground and underwater and gills. I’m fucking alive. I’m deep breaths and panic attacks. I’m train head lights. I’m hardcore sex on a platform waving goodbye. I’m a child’s eyes hiding behind your parents screaming bedroom door. I’m hungry. I’m a braid for tugging. I’m a lasso and the feast you rein in. [pull me (if you can).]  I’m a mother fucking picnic and the basket, blanket and dog.  I’m dead soldiers not on memorial day.  I’m the best night’s sleep and a comforter. You’re lies and falsified wants carving a picture of yourself, high, on an illustrious white horse. I’m here. I’ve got to go. Goodbye!