There’s never only one scene for the changing;
nature is always perceived through a silk screen painting.
My window covers crack as I create them when I spot their errors (unable to delude myself to see false elasticity).
My own dogmatic habits frame them
and I’m too ashamed to hang them.
A photograph of disgust
which Mother nature laughs at
as she pats me on the back.
My spine relaxes
and I walk upright
c a l m
but then with pride.
Suddenly surrounded by potential paper cuts flying from all directions
as my picture of pureness
tainted
scribbled over with multi-colored nonsense
is crumpled into a ball by father God
and thrown into the wastebacket
condemned as trash.
But I jump on my motorcycle
and hit the gas
and crash through the wall of the home that he built with his bare hands.
I am one in a pile of red bricks,
lying twisted
staining the green grass
as I bleed my brains out
because I hadn’t worn the stupid looking helmit.
My God
the sky is blue
and cloudy
tonight.