cut it out.
pull you lips back
down over those sharp explorers
those teeth of yours
rearrange your hair
it's getting ridiculous
and no
you mockingbird
you emotional vacuum
you very deliberate wishing well
theres no crowd
no swarming mass of short breathes and endless approval
no wave machine to constantly lick your shoreline
pick up and move your trash
soften your broken glass
or quickly erase those imbalanced art projects
the drunk version of you thought would pass for sandcastles
your jokes about disposable art are getting old
and if you keep picking fights
with old people
libertarians
the devout
some asshole
collared shirt
truck driver
is going to create new pleats in his khaki pants
as he winds up a punch or does something worse with some random piece of sports equipment
like a bat or golf club
and if you even crack a smirk
thinking to yourself how silly baseball and golf are
im gonna drop you off a curb on the way to school, right in front of some compact car
and send us both to the emergency room.
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