I'm sitting in the dark,

cool green tablelight of my own mind

pouring out onto the floor.

Sometimes I think I’m crazy,

but its so cliched these days.

To be trendy, or hip.

Even shitting all over homeplate

has become passé.

I’m no expert

on the rational things people sing about

in bubblegum, and glue themselves

to the tops of flagpoles on the roof.

Sometimes the only thing i ever taste

is the cool bitter air on my skin.