Mongowians and Studious Doodle

Shoving information into my brain and into my veins.  I entertain myself. I enjoy being vascular.  The flesh of god tastes nice behind my pupils.  I agonize representation. A skull needs ears and why is it kissing a cow? When I was little I fell off a see-saw and bled everywhere but was afraid to go home; afraid of revealing my mortality in the face of what I thought were immortal parents.  I miss my mother and father, but seldom speak to them, mostly of them. I want to go home.  Sleep in my old twin bed, sleep till noon and walk down to my grandmother’s and eat an egg sandwich.  If I’m lucky I can convince her to make chicken dumplings for dinner.  Play my grandfather’s guitar and observe his happiness with each pluck of the strings.  Boldly stand before the Dragon in the basement.  Find arrowheads and eat corn from the garden, below Shady Acres.  Play Gin Rummy with ghosts and watch how their tongues stick out between toothless gums when they have a joker.  Announce the Sun with the roosters.  Boogy with Jean the dancin machine and avoid her flyswatter.  Drive a hum-v in my grandmother’s basement.  Listen to Curly Ennis on Christmas Eve while the men with wild minds drink non-alcoholic beer.  Watch my father as Santa Clause.  Introduce my asshole cousin to my fist.  Collect Bicentennial quarters from a dead marine (Victor) who STILL can do 20 pushups before collecting his Per Diem. Read Mein Kampf on paperback given to me by a black Buddha who killed himself and shares my father’s name.  Tell Kyle about his Christmas presents despite having promised his mother not to.  Speak to Theodore. Pet a dog named Red.  Play hide and seek with Ichabod and wear his soft feline form around my shoulders.  Catch fireflies in a jar and wonder why they die.  Tell a girl I love her. Drink steel Reserve with my brother and Rocky. Listen to Lucid Interval.  Burn shit.  Ninja kick mailboxes.  Swing on vines. Cry. Laugh. Lament.  Scream. Speak of past loves that won’t leave my heart. I want to close my eyes till they rot and drip into my brain, behind their house where I used to climb and swing on the tree with the helicopter seeds. At least near it, near them, with them. Take me home.