I relax so intensely, my skin snaps.
This badgering rationality is enough
to steam my eyelids. I practice
knuckle-cracking, chain smoking,
coffee drinking, pill-popping ways
to take it easy. I idle so high, I can’t come
to a full stop. I could never stay
between the lines. I’m the root of all evil,
yet I pump the gas. I never intended
to evolve into this jaw-clenching, nail biting,
heart breaking, ulcer-burning son-of-a-bitch.
I’m totally percolated
and the pressure’s gonna kill me
if you’re lucky.
I bake the bread of woe and lick
my fingers clean but I pay the tip,
don’t I? Don’t I? I’m a back stabbing, nit-picking,
road-raging bully boy and I dare you,
I double-dog-dare you, to love me enough
before I explode
or very simply fall to pieces.

*Red Booth Review, An Online Poetry Journal; November 1998 *San Francisco Salvo; November 1998 *Thunder Sandwich #6; January 1999 *Realm Whispers, Vol. 1, 3rd Edition; January 1999 *A Writer’s Choice Literary Journal, Vol. #1, Iss. #5; January 1999 *Little Read Writer’s Hood; February 1999

© Fey& Getty.