with a road map glued to my forehead
sick of answering questions
I strive to survive watermarked days
using catchy phrases
that loop in my head
while I try to keep it simple
sometimes spectacular
before that old hat rejection
discards my resolve
with words leftover
in the refrigerator
the hothouse of my mind
then the light comes on
and I bang my toe
drop my bag of laundry coins
and keys, try running a business
harassing people on the telephone
sleuth for a word no one's ever heard
eat in the desert where nothing grows
feel exhaustion from too much information
worthless conversations where nothing's
explained, I hide behind the agenda
cocked and ready to fire
become breathless, a haven for exotic birds
at the beach, I prepare to be ill, practice
dancing the polka on my computer
pass all the other dancers moving
in the same direction, then creep forward
waiting for the traffic light, arrive to sit
at the edge of a pond scratching the gray
off expired instant lottery tickets
find cupcakes at the bottom of the bag
yum, all is chocolate and good.
DoubleSpeak 