This is prose I wrote while serving in the Peace Corps in Bolivia.

Sounds like, but it’s not raining on the roof
I get what I got by remaining aloof
Sharp or flat, give me a tune
dark and black, she simply assumes
what must fix us and make us well again
literally swelling, but still faking you’re celibate.
Quit making demands into diamonds. It’s like sifting sand.
You won’t find or entwine – just pay it no mind
the rocks in your socks nor the trot of the fox.

Pillage the defenses. Mend nothing less than zero fences
you can’t change what you are even if you’re thrown from a car,
raising the bar or bathing in tar. War will mar far from recognition what you
dar al mar. Your secrets and stories are simply subpar.
Science will someday pry us out of these lazy senses and consciences
don’t even mention mental retention or belief suspension
it’s not worth it, the berths that Perth works you usurp it.
The curse of the person whose sermon can worsen and poison the toys in the boys room

I think she might be arriving
Instead I wish she was diving into a pool filled with air
not water, but bare though still deep and quite quiet from peeps
of fair warning. Like the morning eleventh of month nine.
Blood caked, mentally raked, fingers full of grime and exploded stones of lime.
I struggle to find a humbling climb or a thought that doesn’t rot
but persists through time
I’ve stumbled on dimes and tripped on the Earth
gifts given they were, but now seem to be curses
like bare legs, shaved, open not pursed
can’t resist missions or quizzes, I’m totally promiscuous with
trimmed nails, fists and my wits don’t miss.
Miss, I’m in complete agreement with myself when I’m sacrificing my health
or operating in stealth in order to minimize wealth
Let me in! I’m knocking on the door. I’m rapping and rapping
and struggling to win, but failing to lose. I’ve lost my muse
and missed my cues. Now whose kissed who’s due to lose?
Where once I fought and swam with kangaroos?
Calculated dates and raisins makes mates trite and paraded
what I wear is indicative of my mood
my unintentional expletive fits well into my restiveness
“pestilence” is a word I don’t really know, but I guess it works
to tweak the crooks and rewrite the books
that claim authority and anchor me down deep inside the minority.

Wishful blinking conserves feelings and potato peelings
hey Q-Bert instead of reeling in your next big catch
drag the nets and use the rice to expell your head lice
you’ll be dead if you’re right, cut in here by a murderous kite
run through the crowd. Drop the leash. Crash the china.
The bull conquers the lamb.

Aplomb bomb zombies run decidedly dreadfully
beddy bye time why climb the vine when
the weather’s just fine, I say
the grey skies are quite fetching in this mind of mine.
Feeling it out can whisk away words or pistols with bristles and
grizzle. Fuck your missiles. You’ll have to drown in the moat to storm my
castle. Put your lightening in your pocket snot rocket man
if that’s your plan who knows when you’ll land
giggle pig and play your fiddle
Your career is on the griddle because you can’t win in the middle.
Just can’t do it. Starting down that path always leads to black math
I don’t know who made giraffes. Get off my back you fascist fat prat!
Oh I’m sorry… I’ll just be outback skinning your cat.

Did you see that hammerhead swim by?
It didn’t even see me and I was right there watching him on TV.
Do they make females anymore? Where can you go to get the dough?
They say I’m broken and undateable.
Indecisive, unguided and an emotionally unstable bull

Fuck you, you’re right. I am. I’ll take the stand
It’s fine, totally fine. Say what you want, but you better have a plan
You couldn’t have felt what that felt like
That rush of fear-laced blood. That overwhelming calm that didn’t
allow me to think about the possibilities. The death and injuries
that were peeking around the corner, winking and grinning seductively.
My entire structure was altered like a puzzle completed that fell off a table.
I had to pick it up and put it back together again, but I’m still looking for a couple of pieces.
I think maybe they fell under the rug and got lost and mixed up with the
rest of the stuff that I put under there.

Dog hair and thought snares. Don’t even know how they got there
I bought rakes. After buttering up my pancakes I used the filling
to sop my bran flakes. I mean flakes of Brandon sent softly landin’
on the ottoman foot rest I bought for you. Actually, I bartered for it. Handed all my toy cars over but thought I would
get more for it. Profit has never been on my mind. That
would be nice.

I get this feeling of oneness sometimes. Honed and cocked
in sound peace of mind. As soon as it hits it starts to slip
away like a misfit from a crowd. My mind’s mental hands
reach out like sticky hands that you can buy for a quarter
(you used to be able to get them for a dime at one time)
from those red-bottomed, glass-topped vendor-less vendors
that have a star-shaped, metal-knobbed handle. The sound was
a metallic click – a procession of them that led to the little cheap plastic bubble coming down the shoot. Slip open the
metal flap carefully and get your prize. That rubber, sticky, gooey
slappy hand. Noe you’re in command.