Sting sweet, bush sticker, you’ve so rarely taught me
anything at all, because you can’t compare to the crusher
of an empty sky, I’ve come regarding you
fondly in a way, as if you were the toys
of adolescence, flippant with a buzz-off
regard, curling my face in reaction to the madness
of all the observable things, particularly stoops
under the open doors, speckled red dots
from life above, laying warnings down
so no one with eyes will overlook, tattoo’s saying
“NEVER GET A TATTOO” in newsprint
capital letters, lower back burning
the sentiment into my flesh, so I won’t forget.
Real pain has no homeland, it bites the ass
from two months, years, decades ago, but it is
you, as you are pain, it is both the effect
and the cause, recline on the sizzle seeking comfort
in chaos, a factory explosion spreading
disease all across, plague of genocides,
wisdom detracting distractors, an orange balloon
float farting over pigs and sheep,
listen as they scream a limbless rage,
see from their reaction how it’s best not to
listen to the negative, instead just open
your heart, let the sun burn in
because bursting is better than starving,