THE LOST TAPES Vol.38

   Little boy with a ninja headband
   Big boy with a pink Hello Kitty purse
   Little boy has a cool leather jacket full of patches
   Big boy wears hot leather, pissing
   Little boy carries a plastic katana, always on hold
   Big boy flips an iridescent switchblade; cut wrist
   Little boy says he wants no pickles
   Big boy mad dances at 2 in the AM/PM 

   Little boy smiles at me, waves as I pass by
must’ve liked my shirt
   Big boy eats me with his eyes, shaking his tits
pussy hole needs filling
   Little boy lectures about Gormiti for 20 minutes straight
mom’s calling, doesn’t say goodbye
   Big boy can’t express his ideas in any way
and will never appreciate good art
   Little boys shake tears when little brain is confused
   Big boys literally only want one thing and it’s fucking disgusting 

   Real men wear skirts
   Life can be good on a right mind
   Running away from the oracle
   The sky moves like it’s alive 

***

Grandma has level 2 autism — “mom”
Grandpa is legally blind — “dad”
Kid has severe ADHD — “son” 

***

   The floodgates opened up
   Sad evil
   Sad desire
   Sad compliment
   Emptiness in shell full of organs
   Heart beating at its finest
   Throw up the hot rolls in disgust
   Knife to the neck
   Paralyzed next victim 

***

wake up to the sound of dogs barking
you’re a werewolf now
there’s a robber in your house 

***

in the bus, see this girl pass by
beautiful opaque dark brown hair in waves
on all black, gorefest shirt
you could land a boat on her nose
gonna dream about that nose all night 

***

   Squarish man, dressed nice
   Too perfect a neck tie
   Light blue shirt tucked into graphite pants
   New leather belt with gold plated buckle shining
   Wristwatch with alarm and moon phases
   Methodical, logical, asocial
   Awaits the bus looking straight ahead, not moving a muscle
   I disconnect from the enclosed friend circle and go give my mans some love
   Sit beside him, doesn’t notice
   “Could you please tell me the time?”
   He looks at me indifferently, take sometime to process the message, and then asks,
   “Don’t you have a cellular phone?”
   “No”, I respond, and he checks the watch.
   “It’s 13:58h. Had you come in two minutes from here and it would be a mildly interesting coincidence to be asking for hours.”
   Having fun with that, I smile and then ask “What about the moon tomorrow?”
   “What about the moon?”
   “What phase will it be?”
   “Full?” he answers with a question.
   “Hopefully! Just imagine tomorrow’s concert under a full moon! Are you coming?”
   “To your concert? No.”
   The response hits me like the ceiling hits the wall, and the rose of my willingness to talk begins to wither.
   “Why not ‘my’ concert?” I ask.
   “Death Grips shirt. The best thing I could get from your ‘music’ is probably a headache.”
   Offended? Completely. But I don’t yet give up.
   “What kind of music would give you more than a headache, then?”
   “Don’t ask what you won’t understand. You and your punk friends will never know what music really is.”

   With my feelings hurt by the incredible arrogance of a complete stranger, I cracked my piano player knuckles, clenched my bass player fingers; swallowed all the satisfaction he didn’t deserve and went back to my friends, that weren’t so desperately in need of pussy.

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