strawberry and rum and sapphire slanted sun

i prefer to write on this wall under the lavender twilight of drunkenness
loose enough to flow
tight enough to retain typing ability and enough judgment to keep myself out of court
but what a drag
even before i finish scratching a line into this crystalline page i see a vision of the judge
reading aloud some printed out sheet of my blog poetry
connecting the dots in my timebomb mind
“on his blog he professes his utter contempt with the human race!”
and then my lawyer in the great beyond jumps to her feet and says
“yes but your honor, the deep and sensitive artistry of his soul! is this worth nothing?”
and the judge would shrug his shoulders a little and reply
“no, not really”
which is why i’ve given up having the hall of fame gold plate my penis
and i pretty much just shoot my words into the ever-undulating
abyss of impermanence and inconsequential happenstance
as american as destruction, these well-flushed riverbanks gleam with a post-racial gloss
and as always, i’m easing my way into an unobserved irrelevance
it is only here
that we are able to sow fertile and febrile threads of freedom

expectations are like landmines in a new land of possibility
like flags stabbed down into unclaimed real estate at whim
precluding your ability to wander or find a nice patch of grass to fuck on

“what kind of drink can i bring you?” the man with the keys said
i said “make it a nine dollar drink” with a smile that made the whole swimming pool ripple with pleasure
and he laughed
“a nine dollar drink it will be!”
and in the hot sun i shone
let the chlorine tongues of high noon wrap around mi ombligo
i did not wait for his return