CONCRETE ZIPPY ZOOMS

COPYRIGHT: DETOX

this area pours onto me
the street is my example
shrouds circle emphatic figures
mimicking dance routines
lamped by an urban glow
i flow like this
windowed
turbines are cemented fixtures
with surrounding trees scant
between old, forgotton railways
where the homeless lay
the people make a fast dash past
shuttling harmlessly
they have jobs, you see
i am in a sea
and in the dark my waves
are memory laden of some place
a fully charged graffiti wasteland
i see a city past a river
its buildings are quite tall
seemingly this city has it all
but underneath its bluff and gruff
lies the foam of sham
its not who i am
or what you are
i stare off into the zips
my fleets are soundtracked
by blips
no holster to hurriedly capture
my flipping you off
no camera encapsulates my scoffs
because i don’t make light
i am here in my plight
studying people
gawking at concrete
feeling incomplete
having the taste for something sweet
suckling on the dirt and sheet rock
that compiles a life
within construction and discarded
ever so inter-connectedly

trees leaves grass and images of such things.

Copyright: DETOX

the rolling skies are rocky hills

demolishing my retina stare

through a screen

everything is green with pink embers

i was so high i can’t remember

how it looked for real

i cannot feel past the lower extremities

parts of me are peices passing through

a new envisionment

most of me is old wet and tampered with

too fat for you

too fat for school and life

but not pink trees or pink cigarettes

my mind frets

i am transported, suddenly, to another setting

like mars or the jetsons or something

cuddly and cartoonish

all that acid from highschool i never took

CATCHING UP WITH ME1!

and then i vanish back into this picture, back to two years ago when i still felt somewhat fresh, before my puppydog heart was crushed into kibbles n bits by a cruel girl. back when things were ok and tree’s were pink, back then i think that i had it all but i was seriously just as miserable. it’s a constant and perpetual. the past, if we could all just live in the past where we see ourselves as “happy”. too much of living in the past will kill you, i say. too much fantasizing about the future will get you in trouble. the present is OH SO VERY BORING. so what’s to be done?

i love to fantasize, i love fantasy. I AM FANTASTICAL. im fantastic.

noway plz dont say

90 degrees on the tops of trees

i fixate strange clouds in a succession

they trickle downward

as i press a button

slurpy and glurpy

tell tales behind my back

they make nummy num faces

and chew on cows

out of big bowls gigantic stargazers

droop sadly for our entertainment

we are at the edge of our seats

in dramatic enjoyment

i am floppy and buoyant

enjoying every minute of this

hostile environment

laughing loudly at the horror

the seconds make way unto minutes

pronounced by the loud shouts of time

and we recognize him by his odd hat

as time tends to wear such things

time says something like:

“its coming on three minutes now” or

“it’ll be a half hour soon” and i’m

growing bored of him

he seems to think i want to hear

his opinion but i hate him

i feel grim, i am a button to be pushed

he is slapping me around with his personality

my thoughts turn from cherry to grape

the walls are very thin, and i am within them

neighbors shout in different languages

but what do they say?

im so sour with delight

i squeal with muddy zeal

ill let you pulverize my eyes

and then cover them with ice

we are here to watch you wear

those tantalizing skirts

spin and spurt

before us

oh plz give me greaze

oh my plate keep me safe

from your harm, im becoming

something else, very soon.

YOU SEE THESE MOM’S ON TV EVERY DAY

they arrange you in tiny cupboards

so the visitors can see

just how charming you appear

in such pretty dresses

so polite to sit so quiet

in a small box

you have small pox?

i can’t hardly notice!

how charming! yet how awful

for the mother…

how does she do it?

she stuffs you so coarsely

into that cabinet

its become some force of habit

for you both

the mother grins

to your chagrin you are stuck

as she plucks

your feathers clean

shes not mean

but over blown

you cannot win or

try to compete

a winner’s attitude

admit’s defeat.

but it’s not as if she’s a monster

just a mother.

GET A JOB

booming out the bursting windows

of a forgotten time

the ancients make hastey waves

smoking on vilianous leaves

stuck together with spit

out of car windows

sprung together like springs

mystical earth creatures

the music is so amazing

you can hear it from your bedroom

zooming right past you

loud and fantastic

your mom fucking hates it

i am young and free and falling over

neon clothing

no one told me

life was like this

as a child i was spiteful

always grabbing onto knives

and watching a clockwork orange

always writing in my notebooks

now im staring at how folks look

in subways and on light rails

and im studying conditions

enveloping transmissions

because i find life to be so funny

funny little bunny

i laugh at sad dudes

who drive their wives to work

its only friday morning

i giggle at people who don’t know

how to be free

because i am it, and always have been

but oh so stuck

contradictions

the human experience

and if i wrote a book about this

i might just be rich

i am a genius

drunk sick and feeling like

some mad savant

some jackson pollock of a person

poised to be recognized after death

everything from here on is flipped

so we forget, and tied to broken steps

sliced on open car wrecks

so everyone can get a close look

peering out their open car windows

symphonic radio orchestras pierce

in and out of clarity

the sound escalates from loud to soft

i am sitting there in bits and peices

please everyone just take a peek

nobody ends up looking at me,

all they see is a blurred wreck

nothing posthumously stands before them

menacingly

just a blur of a car that once was…

just chunks of metal and shit.

i am wanting to IMPRESSION something

but i dont know what, nothing specific.

HARRY POTTER ANALOGIES LIKE CRAZY

nobody understands harry potter

oh especially snide little nasty boys

who pooh pooh everything

without even knowing

anything

simply assuming

snippy little malfoys

small frightful things

boy toys and cartoons

geetars and hillbilly notions

envelope into repungnant potions

that push people away

not that it matters

NOT THAT DRACO CARES

that his actions might be hurtful

he has his guitars and girls

he has other languages to escape into

he has rock music to fantasize about

but he dosent have harry potter

harry potter wants nothing to do with draco

and DETOX is totally HARRY POTTER

in this analogy.

i am in griffindor

sippin on seeker snitches

eating my sneakers

i laced them with two different colours.

i spelled colors ‘colours’ and only used one ” ‘ ” because of the british reference, btw.

Nervous Life Shit

they spit the valve creeks

turning tricks in salty mines

insects crawling up their spines

hot with shame

right as rain

digging deep this feeling sleet

slippery slope

loss of all hope

from down they came

clinking and clanging

clambering

im in tight jeans

tight fitting

loosely wound up

open ended sentences

nobody mentions this

you pass me up in the hallway

just like everyone

passes everyone else

because that’s what the world is

im sick of how things work

and all i have is words

to express my inner-workings

i am lost in a large crowd

and everyone else speaks

another language

i am being quite literal

i have no time for the physical

only the metaphysical

i do not remember names or faces

only embraces, ultimate beings

are the things i am seeing/seeking

nobody gets this

im getting real restless

lets see, how else can i express this…

ill write a song with lyrical prowess

ill doodle fancifully as if that

will kill my unrest

ill design and rhyme and dance and sing

ill bring to the table what others hardly bring

ill shit and spew and laugh and giggle

and act as if im not real

but i am

and its the worst shock

to realize myself all alone

and growing older

and lonlier

what the fuck do i do?

THE ONE I WROTE IN THE PSYCH WARD ABOUT GRETA GARBO

back when nicotine was good for you

Greta Garbo

Swilling that thick

Swedish face

all over our collective

Hollywood past

She is a Bently formed from

from working man’s

ford bones

her engines creak

ever so suspiciously

I am thinking of her

like family or close

personal consiglere

since we are from

the same country

but in other ways I

think of us as just

the same

hiding from some sense

of self we portray

on a screen or

in a dreem

in front of thousands of fans

who do not understand

why should they?

and, garbo, i am

just as bad because

i am so dubious to be curious

i want to know more

about how boring you were

because i want to be

boring too

like you!!

im almost there but this

psych ward thing got in the way.

so they say you were gay

or bisexual or a-sexual

or something ——- BUT

none of this matters to me

as long as you ate pussy!!!!!

and so i havent read about you

in quite some while

but here i am again

and im thinking “damn greta,

you were so dope!!”

because flowing amber locks

swept across lithe eyes

and softened features

accentuated such soft lips

that swedish face filled with grace

and if we were related

we could have still been kissin’ cousin’s

had the advent of time travel

made it so we could meet

age appropriately.

i would have wrote you

a lovely poem mentioning

something adorable i may have

noticed you doing

you would look at me, sillily…

OH GRETA, JUST STOP

BEING DEAD ALREADY!!!!!

NAH, you’re just astute.

the bee’s have knee’s

and the cats have pajamas

well im tripping the light fantastic

all over your 1920’s catch phrases

existance happens in phases

and this generational gap

makes itself a pulley for

entraping the allknowingness

of hip and happening youngsters

they look to the past

to make up for the lost

and our collective sense of self

is admonished

oh, and obliterated

obliged by this hard hearted tide

it;s as if some happenstance

that hardly ever was

comes back around

for another turn and we

sizzle and burn

fan those flames

its all so lame

i watch this from my tower

as i scribble into notebooks

i’m such an asshole.

A LITTLE PROSE since its friday and all.

the yellow finned ghosts play to certain crowds, within the limelight of some dystopic urban setting. im wearing overalls and suspenders and feeling quite redundant. the ticket seller tips his hat in my direction as a sign that i should leave, “but where do i go?” i emphatically plead “straight to hell” he flippantly directs my emotional plummet. they kick me out of every place ive ever been, i cannot even stand at a concession. this is me, this is my doing.

and alas it is also my undoing.

barbed wire jeans. i got this here clean slate, everything before it wiped away… but in dreams memories of a past time still linger and i wish they didnt.

so i dont sleep, or try not to. i chomp down energy packets, and swill blue colored liquid out cans placed inside cylinder neon pink contraptions. i swill and swill, the effect is worrysome to my state of mind and i have no time to test these limits. or lets look at things from the opposite end of the tail spectrum. the ghosts are yellow with fins ablaze… i in my maze seeing things so perfectly. no direction is my map to a future place, i chug humanity with a pill, down my throat following softly this mystical trail whose end so sadly approaches.

i am in this field, but hardly apart of it. standing on the sidelines, adrift… in my own bliss, or a miserable wish… im wearing a hoodie and a hat and the hat has flaps and i am a floppy fool no time for you. no time for school. no time to drool over epitomized figures, translucent and angular and all just a few rivers away.

i think to myself that there must come a day when someone will swoop into my space and TAKE NOTICE of my ultimate brilliance… the type of person who would truely be able to appreciate it. lost hope, no cause… wrapped in gauze and my enviornment ever changing. i am a harangue with a stick figure drawing as my over all being. detox opens her doors to a wide reception of emptyness.