meddlesome childhood

chasing fever dreams
leads to long wide streets
no turn signals
no crossing guards
the same burning child inside
all pride, piss, and perception
piddling away
still waiting for another quarter
to appear in the change slot
of a derelict pay phone from god
bated breath, bit lip, worn eyes
full body embodied by somebody
birds bursting from burning bushes
and baby, they burn bright
who's left to cry wolf?
descartes had the right idea
start some shit
let the rest of the world
figure out what it meant
sand off those wooden eyes
and put on your dancing shoes
the birds are swooping in
to set you on fire

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