Timeless

So I've been coveting the future, lately.

The ageless future that is scribbled on the drool

That dribbles down a baby's chin.

This child is chirping.

This child is gurgling

This child is wiping

his destiny on a Sesame street napkin.

His name is Justin,

And he has puked up seven months of unstrained desire

Into a bright orange cup.

The future is the past to Justin.

He's a nowhere being, small and friendless as I am trying to become.

An utter mop head of whimsy, a rosy cheeked scepter of fun, a gallon of peach flavored ice cream and noise, a feather bed of lazy disinterested notions and plastic child proof bars.

Justin loses himself in being, in the canyons and the cliff walls,

In that long pink fire escape that's fastened to his mother's skin.

He now is lost and I am found,

I am utterly, forcibly found

In the margins of this spiral notebook, in the limitless point of my mechanical pencil,

In this bottle of sodium free great value distilled water I am pouring out a found ness, in the crumpled mass of magazines beneath me, in the dingy remote control in my hands,

I am forever found by everything around me.

Needing nothing

Clutching nothing

I speak the language of sensors and dials

I have no words to tell even you who love me now

Of the forest that swarms with nightmares dreaming under my bed.

But Justin is a bottle rocket of flaming impulses playfully frolicking with his every Freudian slip.

Saying "ga ga" in Freudian means "I need you. I need you desperately. I need you always. I need you now."