So Much So Loud!

It's enough bombing to make you think,
It's enough bombing to make you wince,
It's enough bombing you strike up a conversation
With your little sister because she's easily excitable.

Sometimes I sleep on bare floors just to keep sane.

2 pm

Smoke-ridden jacket weather,
Greets my derelict eyes,
Which glance at the shower stall,
The pale green tiles,
Their failing caulk,
Their unrelenting beg.

I should probably shave today,
/to the ceiling/


At the end,
If in wonderful pastoral harmony,
There are not certain people I have met,
Precipitated, haunted, felt,
In formal finger finding,
I shall be disappointed Sir Boy Child,
For they have been for me,
Closer than I can say of you.

And if you find anger in that sentiment,
Then you are just as bellicose as the best of them,
Righteousness or no.

IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou all.
Take from me that,
Take it as a locket from my breast,
Show it,
As my last opinion of things.
Or trade it away,
It is not the world,
The world is not the world.

You are the world and everything bright in it.
[aside] Wouldn't you agree, Sir Boy Child?