Tumor Camelus

Woke up gasping like a clumsy puppy
Insincerely considered diving under the #4 to Ypsilanti
Crocheted a Christmas stocking for my dead grandmother
Conflicted, without a pot to piss in or a bucket to kick
Growing paranoid that I might choke on breakfast cereal
or the humid sarcasm of moving pedestrians

I found my old brown corduroys
there is again order to the universe
As the sun lies riding on a sea of toast
pining for the kind of love only thoughtlessness can provide
There is far too much rope in the world, coiled about our wrists like neck collars
And the clones sleep in protest
while gluten free gummy bears traverse a labyrinth of spray painted corn

A hush fervor stirs at the very bottom of some Arabian plateau
So deep, so meaningless
Where we see war about nothing and nothing about everything else
Here they sit dimly lit by the possibility of the flint underneath them
"Nobody knows how to strike fire anymore" god decides