ADVICE IS DEAD LONG LIVE ADVICE
Account, really: royalty counts.
Crown the orphan hockey goons, tea
peddlers, lie menders, good drivers.
Then freeze. Pay someone to stall your
quiet. Go dredge for enough light
to make home by. Someone buy shovels.
Don't weep for that bobsled of fire ants.
Old solutions sunk you in this free for all,
jibbery King Saul and all. I've got his nose.
Don't I look like the new king of naked town?
If you'd figured it all out, I wouldn't need
to name your needs and let you nap here.
Don't go nodozing on that bulldozer.
Buy the best walnuts, bloody fits of
reputation. Steal circumstance. Milk
the leaders of the survey for their
no shit moments. Everybody needs a
moment. I would give you mine, but
sweetie, they ain't done. I'm not useless.
This is just where we're at right now.
THEM'S THE BREAKS
You should invent a retarded hemp android
instead of playing bingo with your mother.
Age is not just the good ship New Excuses
but a way to like sad foods and clean
less teeth. Each day I want a little
said, a little different said, of and to
my face. O a lark the range of human salt.
O the luxury of handling a person's care.
O why did you turn the cold water on?
Oh. Sorry. I only wanted us all to awake
mid-stride, amid the crockery thieves and
early bedtimes, stews and old sweatpants.
My thing is with getting from now on. Yes,
I would like to skip anything that lives just
so bad advice can have a job. But— but—
The reason I never met you at the depot is
not clever. Please let go. I will pass out.
I like to build small promises and sew them
fast, but people keep slathering me these
looks—shit, just tell me what to do, okay?
LET'S HEAR IT OVER HERE
Let's hear it for the half-awake
fauxhawks of the honest naked.
Sleeping on the pillow end feels of
drowning in a vat of cookie dough.
Eating new cereal reminds of parkas. Smoke:
of camper shells on the lakebed, dogs about.
Let's shadowbox the snow!
Let's dress in tissues and cat tails!
Hmm. Half-awake with dandruff teeth.
Steam turtlenecks our brains.
Let's resolve to automate sincerity
in this age of telepathic iPods.
Let's hear it for those of us
who are never in the loop like that.
Who are still taping up old ornaments
and alphabetizing home movies by flashlight.
Who are at it with our pockets and large,
clumsy tips. We didn't mean it that way.
Who smile at first glance to mannequins,
and at second, and so on, snowed on
and snowed on, and sewed wrong, snowed on
and thrown off, and so long—already half-ready
with the ballad soup. Let's bear it. Sleep:
it darts away, past cloves and past regrets.
