FAKE LIFE, MUTHAFUCKAS

From this electric jug I blow
at an accelerated rate through mud
with tied hands around my waist
and mingle with the muggers
and self proclaimed haters.
I felt always we were both here,
I have 2 empty wallets
and a prized purse to prove it.
Switch the plates on a blooming
Oldsmobile for a better getaway.
Los Angeles can occur
in no other way but in vignette form.
Oakland can locate itself
while staying in form to cram you
into a state of attention.
Albertson’s becomes a trash heap,
the smell makes a pass of endearment.
Cattails call me to a ruddy pond
not unlike the sirens that pull
me aside. When a hotel room
becomes the familiarity of your own
at home. I look down and see
letters tattooed in a half moon
across my stomach whispering
F—A—K—E—L—I—F—E.
Earthshine reflects the sacredness
of secularity, and I’m troubled
over the state I’m in.
To invoke the real thing
when it doesn’t involve the real thing.
On any Thursday afternoon
I would have left the same message,
but the weekend was long and fast.
This is where the frogs make noise.
I never thought I’d need so few people.
Oh, to be a playa knowing the farthest
it goes is a graze of the hip right
at the panty line. Make me forget
that this is not you. Talk enough
shit and it will make things happen.
The misty morning you wish
your fucking had. It’s damaging
enough to find. On the real,
hire education in the state
of approval; expirations have I one.
Contagious: don’t fuck around,
give me some love and a packet
of nails. Ask me about my future.
I’ll tell you when I’m dead.
Millie died.