Bed Rest

I am so bored la la la I wish to death I were alive; I am getting hungry!

I wish that fries came with the cows, to dangle bells around their necks

and let them make a methane mess and then the sky it would explode

and all the stars shift from neat their rows and all the things that sound like rules

come pleasure for the Greeks at school, who, turning ‘gainst the odds of life,

can turn to someone else

for civilization. 

I’ll try and flip upon my bed for best rotation.

Bet they were bored like I am bored, by Athens math and Cyprus snores.

Thank no one that the final score is never-ending, but merely fall.

Spring is gone, no flowers left to point and snicker, fickle finger running themes. 

Oh I’m so bored I wish that liquor grew inside of carrots, inside of beans,

so while we munch we deck our spleens and

deathly livers with all good things so joyous.  I’ll take my quiver from the wall

and go unto the changing woods and pan it.

Where the gold streams by I’d build a fire, wide and wider with my eyes, yes, laser eyes! and stack some twigs, and throw my arrows on it.

Oh la la la, that could be fine, respite from the violent times, a warmth and settle for the kind

of royalty who’d come abide with me, o let them come.

I turn my side. Wish dad, alive, would read me myths and fairytale magnifent!

But gone the ancients, gone the days when I would squirm so brave and hold his gaze as he would make the brutish toothy characters so vivid.

Alone alone and la la la, I am not bored, final admit that without some to tend this fever,

none will ever visit. This burn is merely wait alone through time until it isn’t. 

Pain and fraid and left behind the swans and bulls - fierce creatures named by fools made language what was loomed for long long swath: the days behind the days to come, and wishing someone plump its pillow, find cracked ceiling and observe the frigid moon…

Have I such hunger.

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