Peel

I'm fond of your extraneous eyes
& your back-ass-ward melancholy,
modeled as it is after Leonardo daVinci.
When the sunrise is splendid
& the sunlight gargantuan,
I know of only 2 other guys more absurd,
& that's because they're always
intercepting the kisses
meant for my hands and large mandibles.
Because the sun sets on their merry asses.
Like today, I get up and face the insolence
that I inevitably compartmentalize
& the vile contradiction alone
& the natural wretchedness...
Is this what you look for in people?

Your people tend not to be my people
sitting in their tan undies,
tan parasites and tan equality.
My bruises are not your bruises.
I come to the party of life in mid-movement,
where great chunks of life
are not my great chunks of life.
& your silence that I compartmentalize
& your voice that I compartmentalize
as I ride my instant miasma
& instant Myata into a sort of
instant Miami.
Is that what you look for in people?