i'm a sad little rumpled man
skirting along the dog-eared edges of the
more glorious lives of other men, with pomp and confusion
and i enjoy the junkyard dog, scrapping scraps
yet with more valor and circumstance, a dog with a heart
who needs not skid with kids, but rather kid with skids
and breaking the fragile facades of those whose
facades need smatterings of shattering
guilted about being jilted, with golden gilted
guilt, and lovers jiltings
i feel as if cinnamon cinema wants to detach
my brain and make wildly wild western ommely omelettes out of
my matter and pour salsa into my eyes
a semi-spicy snack of sensuous savory
people
and tipsy tomatoes and crispy cilantro and seeping, peeping
people, pouring, goring with bloody peppers and romping
with pomp, peppering peakedly