You Lucky Elephantitis of the Brain-Havin' Fool

Pineapple agent bran muffin. Disco heads take disco naps.
New lines get drawn on maps.
The same lady waxes my eyebrows with an invisible line like a pencil next to
my nose to be precise.
Legends aren't as cool anymore since facebook came along
and computer injuries
Carpool in the tunnel. Coffee still grows on the Jesus tree and lobotomy ear shots
like q-tips are coming from ear buds.
Stop listening and focus.
Walk around with pulled muscles and lightbulbs over your head for ambiance.
Ideas fade into the background; starting something but rarely finishing.
Starting less things for fear of failure and opposition is dependable.

I stopped listening. I'm doing what I want. You can't stop me.
Editorial comments feed the flames, and dancers go out running naked as jaybirds while the breakfast sandwich shop burns
And floods form on the streets
from five alarms of water hoses raining from the sky like a big trope on what my dad
used to say was the final joke in Thelma and Louise.

An iceskating rink of municipal trashcan babies.

Take up a donation if you want but I'll tax it until your penny becomes unlucky.

Nine lucky pennies since new orleans and three gunshot wounds to match.

There are holes in the wall at the hole in the wall; like mirrors facing each other in a dark room imagining that I can see the shadow of my old dead friend.

But all in all, less sleepless nights than ever because the mojo bag is in the junk drawer with everything else, rubber gloved-beauty treatments make for good medicine and only lucky elephants are in the living room this time.