why?:
i taught myself to survive a four story fall,
wearing a space suit and a dead englishman's socks.
it's a textbook procedure kid,
right out of the pages of the hollowed out book
where i once hid my paint speckled glasses.
don't lose your shoes over such a simple step as hitting ground.
just remember to roll, just remember to roll...

"silence in a 5 story stairwell," i say,
and that's all i can think of in my brandon-eyed dead of day crawl.
and i can barely squeeze that lie
through the plaque-clogged pin hole between my two front teeth.

mom, i've kept a razor under my tongue
since i was a small toddler with a tight belt.
i haven't been able to kiss a woman with an open mouth my friend
'cause i'm afraid that i'd split her lip.
is that sick?

"silence in a 5 story stairwell," i say,
and that's all i can think of in my brandon-eyed dead of day crawl.
and i can barely squeeze that lie
through the plaque-clogged pin hole between my two front teeth.

mom, i've kept a razor under my tongue
since i was a small toddler with a tight belt.
i haven't been able to kiss a woman with an open mouth my friend
'cause i'm afraid that i'd split her lip.
is that sick?

maybe i've been playing the part of a falling stone
who tries to catch the wind.

the man with the negative wingspan eats sourdough sue bread,
and hits his highest notes on tippietoe.
it's simple introspection when the sun is silent
and the florescents, with their blue,
make the plants call you a lonely monkey in a very large glass cage.