My childhood went by

like a toy pushed down a long

hallway, set fire, bouncing on the

walls.

I escaped time through

‘a long, prolonged’

exposure to gamma.

And radio.

And hamstring strung up

to drain of fluids, like a butcher,

with those first lines.

Pool hall jukebox and foose ball pothead early teens.

Long before Kerouac or anyone else infested my dreams.

I found delight in my own nature first.

You can learn the only thing you need

to from a swimming whole or a junk yard,

and a few good friends.

(Cue, TheWonder Years Theme)

I don’t believe in being imagistic though.

I washed my hands of all the splices from

Ads and other suggestive thighs, crossed into my own

recollection, my calm, cool predilection

for hosting my own awkward, crazy

unrehearsed audition, (in the middle of dawn

quiet streets, walking home from another night

high on…