i guess i’d like to live in antarctica
white-expanse-liquor melting glaciers in the recesses of vitality
(easy way of saying the endlessness would get me drunk)
but it might seem like a ploy
to become a pretentious recluse.

veteran of these creative types-
this is more debased than you think.
because i’ve never been on track.
i do believe my life has been a digression.
my mind constantly on a tangent while i,
i am awkwardly attempting the tango.

what’s your agenda?
what are you really after?
why do you keep tattooing your hands with reminders-
why do you ask so much?
fainting. and all that it entails.

honestly,
i never seriously considered this an option.

felix and i are gonna take over the galaxy
reach into his bag of tricks
finally figure out how many licks
it takes to get to the center of a tootsie pop.

is this all?
truth doesn’t settle into me comfortably
nothing sinks into concrete
regardless of how porous it is
i’m restless & ready for the universe
but i am a self-induced comatose,
aren’t i?

i guess i’d like to live in antarctica.

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to read this poem in it's real format: redrush (dot) net (slash) ant (dot) txt