You say everyone out wants in
to sabatoge your life,
nothing you can do,
but finger-paint the wind.
You've called the CIA
but they're on a coffee break,
so you have a bran muffin,
and a glass of Chai tea.

it's odd, you say,
how no one understands you.
And why won't the HMO's
pay for your liver scan?
I shrug at the next table
slurping a Tazo brambleberry,
Wondering why all the lunatics
haffta sit next to me.

All you want is to write
fretless free-style poetry
but after a while,
the boogums steal your air.
Grey eyes bright, a scholars face...
hair, metalic fire, tongue pierced with silver
to match your whirling verse...
you ask me...

Do I think you're crazy?

I consider the lovely curves
that define your athletic perfection,
and I meet your questioning gaze
with the only answer
Man has ever offered
the object of his desire.

No, off course not...
more people should wear...
tinfoil hats...