And you wonder how I
can be so versatile, but yet so inexcusably rigid:
you may solicit me, but
do not fondle my purple antennae

and it seems an oddity that I should
have been born, should have
begun by crawling; that I
should have sat in a suspended
plastic-yellow chair or flipped off
a schoolbus; that I should have
had a point of reference, or
celebrated a birthday.
and you can argue on my behalf, can sink
your lawful digits into my pumpkin guts
but do not expect me to appeal for innocence
or feel guilty

you cannot force me: I shall
collapse if i feel like it.
I will also drag my expensive boots through gravel
to prove the point of your incompetence.
I realize that, once i dispense of the
dainty piano wires that
bend back my finger nails and expose
the bloodshot beds to salty mucused worms
I will be left with a
depressing amount of
free time.

I don't make
a lot of sense nowadays; but I
don't think that's a
problem.