It’s in my head,
a black white film clip
of me;
Johnny Rotten on a bad hair day,
a faded wannabe in wayfarers.

I stride into Starbucks,
belly up to the bar,
tell the barista,
“I’m Bad Ass,
make mine a vente.”

On the patio,
boots on the rail, I
rare back in a wobbly wood chair,
sunset falls on the pages.

I come to the hard part, the part
where McMurphy gets the lobotomy,
and cause he can’t stand conformity,
The Chief snuffs his light out with a pillow...

I shudder twice,
a droplet caught in the eye
where the sunlight
explodes in arcs and angles,
stinging foils,
a private piercing
inside a dome.

And man,

this delicacy.

It can’t be me.

Some bad ass, right Mac?

10/31/2008

Author's Note: bull goose looney on tip toes

Posted on 10/31/2008
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