a poem about nothing…. or everything

the space feels so infinite
where does it all come from
it feels so fucking intimate

stuff i send forth
like a clown car’s brightly colored contents
spilling all over the town

so much space
what a waste
make more money! make more money!
make haste! make haste!

take my stuff
i’m purging my past
i’m not the first and i’m not the last
but i’m fucking kicking karmas ass

i bequeath to you this hard wood floor
dancing queen
i have a thousand more springs from which to be sprung
i’ll leap like Tigger
open air
naked and nourished in the sun