Montage: Montage

(To be read aloud to yourself at your computer)

Cutting stacks of paper to bits with a butcher knife
wishing you were a carpenter
and wondering if it ever really happened.
You are stealing ideas, lifting words, into the big black bag of plagiarism when no one is watching
pretending something is more important than it is, more life changing, more desperate
and giving that feeling with the silences, your omissions,
Stopping in your tracks and for apparently no reason
looking over your shoulder because you're sure someone is watching you
swimming in the ocean drunk in the middle of the day
or sitting on your mother's lap, knowing it will never be the same
uncomfortable, not wanting to be there.
Punctuating flippantly, dropping points of exclamation at random interval
and reading poetry crosslegged and naked on the floor of your Berkeley cottage
gently strumming someone else's guitar
emptying yourself through nonsense, pointless exercise
and wondering if perhaps all exercise is pointless
and immediately dismissing the thought.
deserving to die and knowing it but the bullet never comes and, in a way, that's worse
hands on your face, crying for the sheep
full to bursting like the hard air of a Four Square ball, rough/fresh grip rubber grooves brush fingers
scratching what wont stop itching till you stop scratching it
making women want you by telling them they can't, you won't
too busy screaming into the microphone. alone. on the beach.

You are burning your hand on the steam from the rice cooker
a pearl necklace at the black and white ball, around her beautiful neck
like a balloon full of bright green paint popping over your head
you're covered, you're covered, you're covered.