Bubble Bath Surprises

Bubble Bath Surprises

3-1-06

Some days, I feel like failure–
tar bubbles in slimy asphalt,
and I try to fly over it,
but instead sink into my dirty goo.

And I’m caught inside a flaming pie,
I’m caught inside my ballpoint’s eye,
and I fall and rise,
a psychological tide,
and life is this bedrock.
Sometimes, there’s vertigo inside my mind
while trains whistle love,
spuds attack, and I cower in my bosom,
awed by the possibilities
and terrified by Mother Television’s silence.

And some days, I am so mighty–
a galactic twist, pumping veins,
electrified ideas, a world falling together
beneath me.

All pain is inside our mind,
our suffering comes from within,
and so we wish to make our enemies see themselves,
that’s hate.
And we wish to hide our babies from themselves,
that’s love.
And fire shows us our darker nature;
that’s hate.
And amputation is only a humm of loudness
and instant weight loss.

So aspects find themselves
twisting and twirling, out of contextual ratio,
hiss and static combine in the soul,
inflame us, it’s time to go and implode
in self-denial surgery,
cannons pound my brain’s fortification.

And sometimes, I wonder why blood is sweet
and love so desperately sour.




*I just want to say, before anyone comments, that I don't want to hear it. I know you hate the "spuds attack" line. I love it. I won't change it, no matter what you say. It's there. It's the best part of the poem. You...just don't understand me. No, no, no you don't. WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!*