Grocery List for Demon

Sometimes standing rarely up straight
And outside and studying the story of my Self,
I see a cosmos of constellations.

Each one its own nation.
With different rules to live by.

I live in a painting with Borges and
My best friend and some days it looks like
A Hieronymus mural,

where the people are laughing
as they slaughter one another with
scithes and other medieval regalia.

They’re laughing like bloody thieves, and they are.
I suppose that’s what you call your inner Daniel
Stern voiceover put to the lysergic boot.

I call it art.
Get off my cloud,
outta my sky.

That is what the good few do.
They make the rest a background.

And the poem gets hi jacked with their laughter.
And that’s when you make a Bill Murray
Scrooged speech,because to pimp laughter itself is

Legend.

To sing something loud
and embarrassingly badly.

Sometimes half decently,
But most of all freely,
You sign,

“Another Demand. “

…

“I stopped writing poems,”
Gets spoken as though meant

“Starting this instead,”
Handed me something.
I added my thoughts.

Something about how it was

“All music smashed on a floor and reassembled,
Save the Maestro whose fingerprint remained,”

Sometimes its all perfect.
For everything else, there is hyperbolic
License.