Soroughly Thoused

The key to life is to never have a door.

I am where
my eye is a knot.

Welchful faces,
welp, that’s me,
full of lament.

Raise an Army of Sisyphi,
and thin out their ranks in the afternoon
with waffle ball bats.

Never come between a man
and his stripper.

Nonny nonny boo-boo,
the underpaid nanny’s in the kitchen making pasteles and
I can make dreams from the lint in my pocket.

A hand in the stomach
married to a mouth in the heart.

Let’s catch no birds with no stones
for a change.

Let’s play with ketchup
and leave all this mustard behind.