i am you

i'm the boondoggle dangling from your keychain, your collection of discarded postcards reading "luv you, i'm having the time of my life!"



i'm a snowdome placed on your bookshelf. please. shake me and watch me flake.



i'm faux metallica, t-shirt backing safety pinned to his rockin denim jacket. can i borrow that?



i'm a cookie cutter combo, plastic and purple, one day i'll be a dough dinosaur. be sure to eat the head first.







you are the buzzing of bees in my head when i read mediocrity poesy and lose the given train of thought, though you once haunted my abode, my adobe creaking and pages rustling up slumber.



you are the idea of crickets mating, after burping their feast of butterbean soak.





you are the light filtering through a grease-smudged window, reminding me, my head is too small to live inside completely.



you are the wooden chair you fastened from scrapwood in the garage, i stand on you, you are now a stool.



you, the silence of a heavy river rock, drowning out the noisy gush.



i am poochie lip baby, the wailing that awakes a thousand ancestors, echoes from cosmos.



peripheral shift.





i'm the space between your thumb and your brain. that awful space that did not waste time dotting the i.







i'm the look of confusion on their faces when you confess some awful prank, then they laugh...i'm that too.





i am the dangermouse. sitting here outside my house. secluded for words.



i am the brown leaves falling around your unkempt doorstep. CRUNCH!

.you are a million particles of dust, from her sweeping twigs and acorns, a clean path to sidedoor.



i am the last star, colored mustard yellow wallpaper, your back is pressing against me and i have no leg to push you away.



i am the empty winerack, cause you drank it all, now you're digging out quarters for a midgrade.



i am paintsmears on the table, you're scratching your head and wondering why you painted an angel with a cartoon face.





-why your erotic lady sketch has a look of agony.



i am the satisfying feel of thick dried glue under your fingernails when you peel it off the counter. not sposed to be there.



i am a collection of found objects, cluttered in a box, because she looks down, finding little treasures on the ground.







i am aching neck, eyestrain, and big dogs pooping out, soon floating in a pillow...