Madness don’t come in so many flavours
you could open up an ice-cream stand.
NO.
The employees don’t show up
just to have the zookeeper run around
in hyena skin mask screaming.
NO.
Oh, no…
Last ditch effort to make it with cute girl
with the arm brace in the Burger King
stock room.
(Her boyfriend is Filipino,
his name is Kyle,
her name is Ashley)
You go in for the kiss.
She lets you kiss her, but when you
touch her breast she says:
“No.”
“What the hell? No.”
All-nighter hallucinations
at the corner of your periphereal
vision.
You keep seeing baby ducks.
You keep hearing ghost jazz horns
and think up half a boner.
You need a shower.
But not alone.
A cold shower.
Outside in the sun.
You need another summer like the one
where you had sex with four different
women and it all worked out peaches.
You need another romantic walk
in light snowfall.
Take her home to a smoothie
and Nickalodeon cartoon shows.
YEAH.
Cause as the madness sets in
you start talking to yourself
and pretending your room
is an A.I. program.
“Welcome home,
Captain Ray Gun Pajama Pants.”
Your bed kept warm by a female
lizard girl.
By a lizard boy.
By a rockstar.
By an oil tycoon’s daughter.
Virgin till twenty-one.
Still shaves her legs and armpits
and likes to wear fruit shampoo.
Bike trips to Naked Hideout Mountain.
She
found
the
little
man
in
the
canoe.
You can’t get away from madness
like TV cops.
NO.
You can’t outrun crazy or live
on taboo snake cheese.
NO.
You can’t have two girls at once
no more.
NO.
You can’t shower with the soccer players.
NO.
You can’t help out at the cheerleader picnic
and make-out with the only male ballet star
behind the curtains.
NO.
Sound-check for your deaf cactus
named Jake.
Mother never gave you the right
science-fiction DVD for Christmas.
Hell never looked so much
like an eighties teen coming of age.
Stains on both sides of the couch cushion.
And her parents know what you two do
when you’re late to diner.
They all know, but nobody says they do.
NO.
(Her mom once walked into you two
doing a sixty-nine and you saw her
specifically glance at your penis
half in her daughters mouth)
So what?
Sex on Crazy Mountain.
Sex on Madness Hill.
Sex in the asylum.
Play checkers with a man who claims
he invented the futon.
Charles.
Never too young for a late night acid
flashback eating chocolate covered
ants.
Charles.
Cocaine dealer floral button-up top.
Hotel hallway floor and
you realize your wetting yourself.
Charles.
Walking in the rain.
Sandy.
Listening to a band named after
a president.
Sandy.
Random madness re-combinations.
Sandy.
NO.
Using a poem to snort
designer drugs.
Oh. Yeah.
Bone white china dress hugs her
curves.
Oh, yeah.
Sandy.
Sandy with the small red car,
there’s no room for a blowjob
in there.
Sandy.
She’s so good.
But she can be prudish once a month.
NO.
One last flavour of cherry nipple sundae
ice-cream.
Yeah.
Lick it up
and suck it down.
0
craig:bednar 