snowing in omaha

maybe it's snowing it tokyo 
maybe it's snowing in omaha
and maybe there’s a shortcut tunnel between the two
	an easy commute
	thru the center of the earth
an inter-dimensional breezeway of the soul
a straightaway that stays true 
	and there you are 
side-stepping two blizzards

the long hallway is filled with portraits of dead uncles
and other gorgeous goons who stare at you
	admiring at your shoes
antique tables with antique candles and
chihuahua zinnias in chinese vases
the floor is covered in zebra skin rugs
zebras sold separately 
	there’s a gift shop
that sells postcards of all your favorite memories
(sunshine, razorblade skyline, sunburnt faces
eskimo pies melting on a playground) 
		nine for a dollar
there’s a waiting room 
recently repainted and waiting to dry
so you have to wait to wait in it
	that’s ok cause
there’s a dumbwaiter that delivers old world newspapers
	printed on new paper
made from reclaimed lumber
but the same old news as yesterday
	there’s a gallery where you are on display
where you stick your head into a cage and talk like a parrot
(squawk! like a parrot! squawk!) 
		but then something feels wrong
			something feels sick, oh
			no, you say
				where am i?
this is not a dusty old museum, it’s a mausoleum
it’s a warehouse full of funhouse mirrors
center of your soul
dead center of gravity
where momentum goes to die
		it’s a prison 
you run and run but go nowhere
and the more you run the more nowhere you go 
you try to leave but the doors are just painted on  
you try to sleep it off but wake up three hours before you slept
and have to start over 
you rage at the walls 
in fast forward and super slow-mo simultaneously
feeling like a poet who swore an oath of silence
wears a black beret and striped shirt
pulling a rope of pure hope
symbol of the dead
and your skin feels cerulean and your breath is feathery 
and your mind feels glassy and your heart starts to foam
and you don’t want to search for yourself inside yourself anymore
cause a hole inside a hole is dangerous and ugly and unholy
and it’s still snowing in tokyo
still snowing in omaha
and probably six foot deep and blowing sideways in rome  

and there’s a banjo in your pocket 
but you don’t know how to play it

note: i think i should get credit for using the word “mime” even though i didn’t use it… i mimed it =) just kidding.

posted for shay’s word garden word list

posted for the sunday muse #241


your love is like sniffing glue in abandoned playgrounds
your love is like running thru hell with
		naked feet
your love is solving complicated math with broken fingers
		and broken toes 
400 million trillion blackholes in this universe
all of them in denver 
		all your accidents end
in denver, you’ve got asphalt and postcards in your pocket
you’ve got lilacs in your hair 
your love is playing with snakes 
you burn your candle from both ends and the middle 
you burn your candle like you hate candles 
		your love is like a puddle of gasoline
you can swallow your heart and start over  
your bullet holes are filled with black noise 
you can play a blue guitar
a heartbeat and a bruise, a heartbeat and a bruise  
                you can play a green tambourine 
you can play a goddess in a tight sweater and jeans on a mission
from heaven to find reason and ruin in a single drop of rain 
                you can play dumb 
heartbeat and a bruise, heartbeat and a bruise
love is a blue guitar you drag around by the neck
400 million trillion broken hearts in denver
                all of them yours 
you play dirty pool and you’ve got dice up your sleave
your laughter is clattering and witchy and itching all the right spots 
                but your soup is cold 
no one knows where you came from
your star name is papier-mache angel
your earth name is catastrophe spiral 
fate is a chimera 
		you are prodigy of chimera   
your eyes are haunted gloomy kamikazes
you drink kamikazes
you throw kamikazes at everything that gives you pain
your love is throwing side-eye at the world
                your love is a one-eyed horse in a snowstorm 
your love is like rust falling off a truck parked on the side of the road
		next to a junkyard
your love is like looking for a black cat in a dark room that
ran away years ago chasing blackbirds into blackholes in the
		darkness of denver
you love is something
	more than
		and less than
	and other than

posted for shay’s word garden word list

posted for the sunday muse

the sunday muse #194 x-ray glasses

when i was
a little kid
i wanted
x-ray glasses
and sea monkeys
but mostly 
x-ray glasses

i wanted to know 
what grown-ups
were thinking
what was
going on in those
oversized skulls
why the
long blank expressions and
they never

i thought
the x-ray glasses
i bought
were broken
cause all i saw
was nothing
no matter what
i looked
nothing but nothing

i thought
those swirls were just painted on
a total scam!

all grown-up
and i know
what is what
i know 
what goes on in these
oversized skulls
and it’s 
sea monkeys

posted for the sunday muse