Such pastel
leaves lodged in such tight
sidewalk nooks.

What’s all o’ this trash doing in the middle o’ your room?

Why don’t you be responsible for once & clean it up?

You have too many ‘o them, anyway.

Look, you don’t even use any o’ them.

They’re just taking up precious space.

They’re bound to go bad, anyway.

If you can’t throw ’em ‘way, why don’t you put them in some o’ these drawers?

There is too room.

You can just cram them in like this.

I don’t know why you put so much effort into getting so much stuff from other people’s houses if you’re not going to even use it?

You know, they could probably make better use o’ it.

Just look at you.

I brought you up so well.

You had everything.

You’re different from the others.

They weren’t brought up with everything.

You were.

& what have you done with it?

Take more o’ their stuff & pout ’bout how everyone’s gainst you?

Why shouldn’t they when you take all o’ their stuff?

Yes, you are.

Uh huh.

Just keep telling yourself that.

Yes, ‘course I remember you were student o’ the month @ Normandy High School.

How could I forget?

You keep bringing it up.

That was years ago.

You’re 24 now.

What have you done now?

What have you done with those great grades now?

Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it a million times ‘fore.

Sure, you don’t want to “sell-out” to the “establishment.”

Yeah, yeah…

That doesn’t stop you from expecting free stuff from them, does it?

In return for staying round those crooked folk

Who always do their dirty dealing in the alleys o’ K street;

In return for letting them step all over you,

Going right ‘long with them as they break those very principles you claim to hold.

O, I know exactly why you stick round them:

You’re a coward.

You’re just as bad as the parasites you criticize.

I’m ashamed o’ you.

When will you finally grow up & clean up your act?

Accompanying music.

Heralding the rainy fall,

spotted aliens, you bring

color to this misty pall,

dancing, happy, moldy springs,

mixing well with jungle drops

that humidifies the air

elsewise empty. E’en when not

eating you, you taste o’ pears.

Bounce me to the magic kingdom,

teach me songs so I can sing them—

all that sugar till we ring done.

dragons fight
autumn colors man
on mushrooms

Accompanying music.

…in the moldy air smells

fresh of oysters, crabs, & spiral snails

rolling inside rolling leaves, brick bells

clanging mossy in the cloudy, pale

shoving chill that makes me ill but also

stomach-filled: the french fries leave their scent,

orange trees scheme to bury seeds are all so

juicy you can tell the apple’s pent

up till bitten splurging maple peanut

butter chocolate drops in black-oil puddle

rainbows hugging sidewalks in my tea cup

coffee acorns roasting steam that muddles

windshields in the misty highways, till the

moon awakes, glow headlights, pumpkin eyes

from the deck of witches named Matilda,

Spider-Man, or ‘nother grim disguise,

all for jangling bags of shiny plastic

honey colors. Dump the leaves in drops,

feed your storm drain. Crying in baskets

tastes both sweet & sour, for sour’s a lot…

Here stands a black crow
in the middle o’ the road.
He don’t give a fuck.

I saw it in the warmly cool cast o’ cobalt,

spreading its sparks ‘cross the sizzling sands o’ clouds,

folded into a thousand gowns

with candied drool dripping from its hungry mouth.

On damp noons,
Jack without his light,
still smiling.

I caught it in the pumpkin-colored pine needles spread ‘cross the streets,

rubbing gainst the off-black concrete

& the black puddles o’ oiled grease

swimming in burnt-brown leaves.

In acid lakes
peanut butter rows
sour apples.

Where the torrents make the maples blush mulberry grape

while others crouch back into the shadows powdry gray.

A leaf slaps its hand on the stain-smudged chalky pavement

so hard the blood rushes to half its otherwise anemic digits

till unexpectedly the gusts shoos it ‘way.

¡O, I’m dumb!
I almost forgot
the mushrooms.

When the natsu no tsuki makes way for the aki no tsuki to come,

cut bloody crescent cold,

spirit-snatching owled-eye beacon,

its drenched-blade forests feeding mold

till the trees & cities are splattered with orange,

& collections o’ bright colors captured by candies foraged.

& now we can forgive

winter’s cold,

spring’s drops,

& summer’s burns—

Now finally can my ol’ props be unearthed;

time to pull red crops for all they’re worth.

Now so stuffed with
so much sand worms,
fin’lly, it’s time
for just desserts.

Too cold,

too tired

to fold

2 tires;

too bold,

too wired—

took coal,

¡chew fire!

Sorry I tossed it in the can;

it looked so vulgar, so insipid

with arbitrary rips. ‘Twas bent

& crumpled, too. You’ll hardly miss it,

¿will you? You could e’en see right through

it—not a color whatsoe’er.

So throw the tethers with the feathers.

No, I like my locks a lot—

& I’ll have you know, the cost

that “insipid” wrapper held

beat the sum of all you’ll sell.

Burning, now I bring you hell.

Now, keep digging.

¿How? Neat rigging.

¡Ow! Beats stripping.

Ciao. (Deep swigging.)

& now they tell me that I’m dying.

Keep frying.

& now I see that no one’s buying.

Keep trying.

& now I watch the drainpipes crying.

Keep drying.

But now I watch the plastic winding.

Keeps sighing.

Roll me through your slop,

bounce atop my cot,

make my blood veins clot,

taste spoiled pastel chalk.

& still I don’t know when to stop…

«A todo el mundo,

a todo mis amigos:

vos quiero.

Tengo partir.

I have to stay here,

I have to stay clear.

…

Cheers.»

—Gigadecay, «Disparando sudor.»

Sorry, fallen leaves—
though you’re prettier than greens…
blame civilization.

Accompanying music.

Forest firs, please, don’t you ever stop

being bed-headed in the sniffling

wind; squeeze out your fur the shower-fed drops

rainbow in the sun & just as tickling.

Both in heat & chill, your bark, it barks

with emboss & bevel, home to so

many worms & birds in many parks,

wake in sun & moon—in both you glow.

But some happy stories become tragic,

for the fir was cut down from its vantage—

disadvantages of too much magic.