THE LOST TAPES Vol.40: another instance of adulthood

   Nothing new is happening
   As in there is no inspiration to come quick and easy.
   Though recycling can give me sure hitters
   There’s no desire for the bullseye.
   What can I do to feel happiness again?
   Inspiration always comes so close to aspiration.
   So hard now to put myself to think of something.
   Anything at all, really.
   Maybe talk about the beautiful shiny boots she’s wearing? 

“She smiles at me, and I see nothing in her green eyes
Will smile back, will partake the chit-chat
But I’m itching to look down again
and dream of touching those shiny black boots.” 

***

The jailbait festival
Underage girls in fishnet and miniskirts
Some showing back, some showing belly
All under heavy mascara and black lips 

Sugar daddies scout new babies
Depressing music plays on the speakers
Skateboards hang on the walls
Never been to anywhere more german 

***

two ginger kids walk side by side
they were twins, I’m sure
the weird kind too
the one that becomes a post-folk duo in the future 

***

She dressed like she was twenty years younger
The kid was clearly depressed, watching
his parents kiss like a teenage couple
Sharing fries at the food court 

***

In a world where drive-thrus are a privilege
I overhear rich people drama 

***

the note says, written with saliva on the blank page,
“he copped another late night reject attaboy”
and under it is a pencil note,
“aren’t we all rejects?” 

***

that girl at the bus stop, with the walmart uniform
tatted like michelle zauner, rock boots
short black hair; smiled back at me as I passed by
like the start of a way too modern suburban rom-com 

***

fuzzy memories come and go as I struggle to open my eyes in the morning
cheating scandals and backstabbing, lived through so much drama
but all made up drama, I guess, my friends still by my side
such cool make up in the eyes of that girl, like an indecently high mardi  
[gras in halloween season; full of blues and greens and glitter
the many times I was violently thrown, now my butt's hurting
boys and girls talk smart about world problems, writing punk lyrics
drunk for 3 days straight, gotta remember the promises made
like the christmas gifts and future dirty jams, and the artists and the fading 
[phone number written on my arm
who was that? 3 numbers missing, will never see them again
so many nice males to make the court — a cool hello kitty shirt — girls got 
[the goods amirite
wish I was up there on stage to sing ghostbusters with the college professor
policemen stop the tracks, spit to the rock boots
uncaringly young I am, we all are, 3 at a time drinking shots of clear vodka
there were rice cakes in the fridge, ate em frozen
bed was not inviting, sleep devoid of dreams, my head won’t move now

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