Comfy pants (home alone confusing whitenoise with applause)

Neon dance (clomping hooves all in time, call and response)

Pumpkin smiles (if you don’t have money, well, then i don’t strip down)

In packs or piles (the world is lost, they should include us now)

It’s all water under the sugar bridge anyhow

Madly tapdancing until the time runs out

While spamalot selling protest signs to cows

Got my mojo maintaining regular business hours

And i don’t want to know where gravy comes out

From the director

Of the sequel

Of the sequel

Of the sequel

Of the sequel

Of the sequel

Of the sequel

Of the sequel

Of the sequel

Of the sequel

Of the sequel

Of the sequel to saw x

It’s...

Safety scissors - my truth is fattening

Rhymes with izzle - student demonstration time

Pinkerton panther, phonevoice and matching

Since you’re paid for, it’s store credit, no refund

Hallelujah for a refreshing pepsi

Hollow hands, blank books and waterwings

Chase the seagull, kill it and walk away

J. walter thompson, paint markers and camel legs

It’s plainly different when you’re lit to cut teeth

And trade blue for the spoon in your gums

Go go go

We’re so connected

Through ducts, never alone, silently followed

We’re so connected

Hooded detainees filing into a plane

Go go go

Yo blood money, it’s got to be the shoes

Don’t hold your breath for a joint about sweatshops

Poem words picked from drawers - grey, black, and white

Lost when yawning feet climb in their socks

Do you get mad or are you always quiet?

I don’t think you know me very well

Things must be said twice before they’re heard

Or like receipts they’re bleached and blotted out

...and are meant only ‘til they’re said out loud

How do you sleep at night?

(dot dot dot)

Phantom gatherings and paths unfollowed

Packed brittle and yellowing in boxes

Stains bursting across the floor

Indoor snow settling down like tired kittens

Onearmed years buckled square under weight

Of undripping rain that will not evaporate

A steady eroding wash of accumulating entropy

Blue flame smokes, extinguished to stone

Days flip by like a baseball card

In the spokes of a bike

Tires

A lost fly in winter spinning meekly on its back

Running the air in prickly spasms like a dream

And falling silent

Anger wrapped in blankets

A padded knock of feeble fists balled pink and soft like sunday ham

Sliding faint down doors with weak whispers

Then swung lazily from shoulder gallows in narrowing cursive os

Mirror cracked and distended, sallow pores swallowing warm fog

Widemouthed and recalibrating

There is no fire

Just a pale pleasant glow lighting swollen palms

Groping halfhope and heart

All spun and um between words

A bare spidery sinus like a blindfold reaching back toward your ears

As you walk until all you can do is walk

Fumbling for a light switch

Or a wall

Then anything solid at all

Waiting for shapes to undress from behind photocopied scenery

And muffled faces shocked white and abbreviated

All feeling sucking back behind your own gelatin skin

Until you stop

And sit

And your ghost continues on ahead

Without thought to toe or topography or thought

This is the halflife, transformed

Swaddled in the vast blank chrysalis

Nourished by the lukewarm void and drying into the shell

A husk for new corn eyes

A clear container with the label scratched off

Storage space for younger dreams

In its very own empty theatre