Tuesday, April 29, 2014

Great Value

I’m not sure when 99 cents
became a super value.

I don’t think I’ve ever paid
99 cents for anything.

As I write this I can’t
believe there isn’t a symbol for “cents”.

That’s right, look at your keyboard,
no symbol for “cents”.

It’s ridiculous to advertise something
as a great value at 99 cents when it’s never,

99 cents.

Taxes prevent anything from actually
being 99 cents.

Dollar menus? Jokes.
Dollar stores? Bring two.

What’s a dollar anyway?
There’s a dollar in change somewhere,

in your house right now that you don’t
care about.

That’s right. A jar, a vase, a bank,
filled with more than a dollar.

Just sitting, on a forgotten basement
table. Gathering dust.

Great value.

Monday, April 28, 2014

Why I Didn't Sleep Well

            My dream flickered like a silent movie in an old Nickelodeon machine. It started curiously enough at an outrageous party where every single person was far too drunk. I wasn’t feeling like I was having any fun. So I started toward the door. As I worked my way through the bustling intoxicated crowd I saw my late Uncle Rich in the doorway. He looked normal enough. He was wearing a red sleeved baseball jersey type undershirt with a gray chest part. His hair was classically disheveled. And I was aware of his height over all the other people in the room.  He moved out of the doorway into some hallway and I had to really push people out of my way to get closer to him. When I finally got through the throbbing throes of the crowd I realized I was carrying a baby.

“Oh shit,” I said. I looked around to see where the hell I might have picked up this baby when I saw my Uncle Rich again down a narrow hall. I called out to him and he stopped. I hurried toward him, still holding the baby. When I got close to him, he turned and opened another door behind him. He said something to me.

“Hum muff murble, kafurmer,” he smiled at me and motioned me through the door.
            “What? What did you say? You’re speaking Polish aren’t you? Damn it,” I said as I went through the door. The baby was gone from my arms and now I was concentrating on what my Uncle had said but I just couldn’t make it out. It was so muffled and static filled. The door closed behind me and I found myself at a quaint little small town train station.

It was a sunny and warm summer day at this train station. It was a calm and quiet day and since I had nothing particular to do I decided to sit on a bench and watch the train roll into the station. I sat and as the train pulled in I started to feel very excited. I couldn’t help but wonder who was going to be on this train. Who was I waiting for? The train rolled in slowly and I could see through the windows of the passenger cars very clearly.

She was actually looking out her train window when our eyes met. “Oh crap,” I thought as our eyes met. It was a woman I dated for a short time a few years ago. She had the cutest features and one hell of a beautiful body. We used to do crossword puzzles together and I haven’t done one with anyone else since.  She was my petite prize who really hurt me. She saw me sitting on the train station bench and I could sense things were going to get embarrassing.

 She got off the train and started walking toward the train station and I ran up to catch her. I just about caught up to her before she stepped into the station. I called out her name but she pushed open a swinging door and stepped through. I followed, not reading the sign on the swinging door, and I peeked in. I heard her speaking.

“Nothing like going to the gym a little drunk, am I right? Man, you girls sure know how to make a girl feel short. What’s with all the tall gals in here today,” she quipped and joked.   I looked at her and she was getting undressed in front of a locker. I called out to her, I was very focused on her and I hardly saw the other women around also getting undressed. She noticed me, but kept undressing while other women sort of gasped that a man had invaded their holy sanctum. I stammered something but she just looked at me.

“I will be out in an hour Michael. Just wait around and I’ll see you after the gym,” she said to me.

             Something about this seemed okay so I stepped back from the door and walked back down the train platform.

 “What kind of pervert are you,” asked a female voice from my left. I turned and saw a woman, whom I didn’t recognize, staring at me with her hands on her yoga panted hips.

“I’m sorry about barging in there, I didn’t know it was a gym, I was just talking with my friend and, well, I’m sorry but I didn’t know there would be women in there changing clothes” I said.

The woman looked at me with distaste and distrust but she seemed to recognize my sincere apology and she started walking away.  I thought that my apology for accidentally peeking into the women’s locker room at this train station was now passed but I was wrong. I found myself being escorted toward a large municipal type office building by an African American woman. She was holding a clipboard and asking me all kinds of questions. The questions ranged from casual to medical.

I found myself at a strange admissions counter, surrounded by a fast moving work staff. It seemed like a hospital and a homeless shelter and a police station all mixed into one facility. I realized my jacket was gone and I felt a sense of panic creep in. The black woman was now wearing a white kerchief on her head and eyed me with suspicion as she continued to ask me questions.

“What’s your name? You are disoriented? You should be after all the weed you smoke on a daily basis,” she said.
            “I don’t smoke weed,” I said.
            “C’mon, you can tell me. I know you smoke at least 21 joints today,” she said.

 I looked at her very seriously.

 “I assure you Madame, I do not smoke marijuana,” I said clearly.

I turned away from her and headed for the set of double glass doors and I stepped outside. It was dusk now and I remembered that my jacket was missing from my shoulders. I turned back to the doors, thinking to ask where my jacket had gone but the doors I had just passed through were locked. I stepped back and heard someone yell from behind me.

“You’re in my spot,” said a gravelly voice.

I looked back and saw I was standing in what looked like a homeless person’s makeshift sleeping area. There were crumpled clothes and food wrappers all over. I looked right and saw other homeless people setting up their spots for the coming night.

“Get out of my spot. I want to sleep there so I can be first inside in the morning,” said the gravelly voice.
            “I’m just looking for my jacket,” I said.

I walked away from the spot though and started wandering the sidewalks and streets amid the throngs of the gathering homeless. I had to find my jacket. I then realized that I should call someone on my cell phone, they could help me figure out what I was doing there and maybe come and help me. I reached down to my pocket. The pocket I always carry my cell phone in, yet it was gone. My phone was nowhere to be found. “Great, I lost my jacket and my phone,” I thought.

I started rummaging through the scattered bits of garbage and clothes strewn about the city sidewalks looking for in, disrupting the homeless people around me. They started to shout at me and tell me to go away.

“I need to find my phone and my jacket,” I shouted at them. I was acting crazy. I felt crazy. I felt like somewhere in this dream I had really lost my mind and maybe I really did belong at that clinic/office building place.

I ran off from there but continued looking for my lost items. Then I saw some guy, some teenager, wearing my jacket. He was standing over a concrete wall overlooking the other homeless people and the trash can fires starting behind me. I called up to him.

“That’s my jacket,” I yelled.
            “It’s mine,” he called back.
            “I can prove it’s mine with a magic trick,” I said back.
            “A magic trick,” asked the guy.
            “Yes. If I can guess what’s in the right hand pocket you have to give me the jacket,” I said.

The guy reached into the pocket of my jacket and I saw a scowl on his face.

“There are keys in that pocket, specifically a keychain with the Magic 104.3 radio station logo on it,” I said.
            “Give me your wallet,” said the guy in response.
            “Listen, I don’t have any money in my wallet. I have like two bucks in my wallet, I’ll give you the two bucks if you just give me my coat back,” I said.
            “I want your credit cards,” said the guy.
            “I have like 17 bucks on my credit card, that won’t do you any good. Please give me my coat back,” I said.

There was a commotion behind me and I turned to look. The world seemed to be collapsing and there was urgency to getting my coat back. I looked back up at the guy.

“Two bucks for the coat,” I yelled.

The guy seemed to ponder this proposal. While he did so I started to remember that I wasn’t crazy. I wasn’t homeless and I could get out of this. I remembered that the reason I didn’t have my cell phone was because this was a dream. It was just a dream.

I woke up in my bed to hear the sounds of a truck being loudly unloaded in front of the Dunkin Donuts across from my apartment. I instinctively reached down to my leg where my cell phone would normally be on my person and remembered it was on the nightstand next to me. The clarity of the real world slowly washed over me and I fully recognized I had been having a nightmare of sorts.

It was a nightmare where I was in control of nothing. At least until the end. The helpless feeling lingered with me for a bit as I rolled over onto my other side. I wiped the drool from my chin and remembered the part where I saw my ex getting undressed in that strange train station locker room.

“What was she doing there,” I asked the darkened bedroom, “I hope that baby I was carrying is okay. Wow, Uncle Rich too. Weird, weird, weird.”

I drifted back to sleep only to dream more about panicked Valentine’s Day cards and my failure to get it to the right woman. It seemed so important, yet I screwed up signing the card, a simple handwriting mistake had ruined it and I was stunted into inaction just staring at how I’d ruined the card. This morning, when I woke up and headed right to this computer to write about all this, I felt a mournful sadness still lingering on my mind.

“I didn’t sleep very well at all did I,” I asked myself.

So, here we are.

Tuesday, April 22, 2014

Mud on Your Face

             Leonard woke up in a puddle of mud. His pants were pulled down to his ankles. In the ever growing consciousness he could hear the tinkling of laughter.  He opened his eyes behind one shattered eyeglass lens and one clear. He could feel the sun on his bare legs and could smell the bloody metallic odor of a busted top lip. He tried to push himself up but discovered there was an immense weight on his back.

             “Tryna get up nerd? Get up nerd! Why don’t you get up nerd,” said Carl Phlagerstrom, whom the other kids had nicknamed Phlegm. He pushed his weight down on Leonard’s back. Leonard tried to gasp for air and had a serious worry that the mud puddle would fill his lungs and he might drown.

             “Get up nerd. NERD,” shouted Phlegm.

             The crowd around them in the playground laughed and pointed as Leonard struggled to push the weight of Phlegm off his back. Leonard started to question the wisdom of standing up for him-self. Carl “Phlegm” Phlagerstrom was the biggest, acne ridden, halitosis breathing, booger dripping bully in all of Park Hills and everyone was afraid of him. Even the teachers at school and adults in the community were scared of Phlegm. It seemed that only Leonard was brave enough to deny Phlegm his lunch money.

            “Get off me,” shouted Leonard.
            “What’s that nerd? You want your mommy,” said Phlegm.
            “Get OFF ME,” yelled Leonard.
            “Give me your money. Not just your lunch money, all your money. I want you to take me to your piggy bank at your house and give me everything that you have,” said Phlegm.
            “No,” questioned Phlegm.

             Phlegm started spanking Leonard’s exposed butt. Leonard squealed in pain and tried to throw Phlegm off his back but Phlegm was just too heavy. He was a great big fat kid and Leonard was only a healthy 89 pounds. His eyes were streaming with tears as Phlegm continued to smack him on his bare ass.

            “Stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it,” cried Leonard.
            “Are you going to give me your money,” asked Phlegm.
            “NO,” shouted Leonard through his tears.
            “Maybe your Mommy will give me some money, after I do her,” snarled Phlegm.

             The crowd around them had stopped laughing. They were silent. It was a level of violence they weren’t used to seeing. It was something unusual yet they could look away or even help. They were stunned, like watching a hyena dig into some rotting carrion after the lions had their fill.

             Leonard felt a rage in him. A fire started to boil in his depths. He felt his face burning and a new sense of power surge through his arms. He pushed himself up with a mighty scream. A pre-teen, pre—puberty scream that only young men can muster. He pushed himself up, the hardest push-up he could and would ever perform and launched Phlegm off his back. Phlegm fell into the mud puddle beside Leonard. Leonard roared and got to his feet. He pulled his pants up and then stood over Phlegm. Leonard’s instinct had taken over. His fight or flight response had taken control. It had chosen fight.

             Phlegm tried to scramble to his feet but Leonard wouldn’t have it. With his hands clutching the remains of his pants waistband he jumped onto Phlegm, sticking his knee on Phlegm’s neck and he started to push. The rage and terror of the unrelenting bullying over the course of the last three years had finally reach boiling point. Leonard applied more pressure on Phlegm’s neck and he could see Phlegm’s eyes start to fill with panic and fear. Phlegm tried to kick Leonard with his sprawled legs but he couldn’t affect Leonard. The blows went unfelt.

             Leonard applied more weight and the crowd of children started to disperse and run away. Phlegm started to gasp and claw at Leonard’s knee and hip. Leonard started to feel a sense of calm come over him. His adrenaline started to wane. He lifted some of the pressure on Phlegm’s neck but leaned down close to him.

             “If. You. Ever. Touch. Me. Again. I. Will. Kill. You.” said Leonard.

             Phlegm nodded weakly and Leonard lifted his knee off his neck. Phlegm rolled over on his side and gasped and groaned. He heaved and coughed. Leonard fixed his glasses on his nose and pulled up his broken pants. He started for home.

Monday, April 21, 2014

You Got This

            Jared hated standing shoulder to shoulder with all the rest of the human cattle. He was another one of those guys, trapped on a subway car hurtling under the streets, going to a job he only mildly accepted doing. He didn’t like all the heavy breathing and smells emanating from all the other worker bee suckers around him. It made him want to wretch. He tried to make himself smaller somehow. All this touching from strangers and the stinkers made him anxious and sweaty. He never liked being in a crowd and always tried to find a place on the train where he could sort of disappear until he had to disembark. He hated the smell of other people’s breakfasts wafting and mingling together in some sort of cereal, syrupy, coffee flavored hell. It was as if he could actually taste the souls of those around him and it tasted like vomit.

             He tried to shift his weight to his left foot but a woman of significant size had somehow Tetris-ed her way in next to him. Jared felt pinned by her overly accentuated ass. He bumped into her as the train jostled around a bend.  The woman gave him a dirty look as he tried to get comfortable, as if it was Jared’s fault for her being a woman of such large character. Jared tried to shrug but he was in such an awkward position it looked more like he was having a mild stroke. The woman looked down at her cell phone and began loudly clacking a text message. She still had the sound on and Jared could clearly hear every faux type key sound. He couldn’t help himself and looked at the large screen of her cell phone.

             OMG Some people on the train are so rude,” wrote the woman.

             Jared cringed and wanted to say something to her. Something that put her in her place as being the rude one, but then, she would know that he looked at her cell phone screen and that would probably make his argument about rudeness completely moot. He sighed loudly and tried to look left but was met with the cold dead eyes of a frazzled middle aged woman. She was carrying a large work bag, an umbrella (even there was no rain in the forecast), a plastic shopping bag and a backpack with the outline of a tennis racquet poking up.  Jared started to wonder about this woman’s life. She looked burnt out and it was only 7:38 in the morning. She was blankly staring at Jared. Rather, she was staring through him. She was clearly a woman that spent a long time working on her-self and yet was still struggling with her image. Jared wondered if she was looking at the larger woman with some level of distaste.

             The train pulled into the next station and there was a commotion of movement all around him as the worker zombies jingled and jangled their ways off the train and new zombies crushed in. Jared tried to avoid any further contact but he was shuffled further back on the train and came nose first into a man wearing three coats, one of which was wool, which smelled heavily of cigarettes and urine. Jared’s eyes watered and he tried to turn around, but the woman of large carriage had also been shuffled back and now had him pinned. He looked up at the train ceiling and caught himself wishing for some respite, some shining stroke of luck to free him.


             The crowd collectively groaned. Jared felt sweat rolling down his forehead but couldn’t seem to move his hand to wipe it away. He tried to bend his neck to wipe the sweat on his sleeve. He tried to calm down. He took another deep breath but could only taste the stink of the man of three coats. He coughed slightly. The train held still at the station. No wind could be felt. Jared began feeling like an amorphous humanoid blob, like all of the people on this train were actually just one giant lecherous organism, slithering through valleys of the most vile filth.

             The train finally jolted forward and everyone had to regain their train legs. Everyone tightened their grip as the subway car moved forward through the tunnels like a metal mole of damnation. Jared looked up toward the windows and the flickering lights zooming past and he wondered if the claustrophobia of the 21st century was something the people of antiquity could have ever conceived. He wondered if ancient Romans ever had to deal with such crowded and uncomfortable conditions.

             The woman of large carriage next to Jared adjusted herself and he could hear her fingers clacking on her cell phone.  He felt her ample rump against his and he wondered if there would be sweat marks. Two perfectly round sweat marks cast in mirrored imagery on his lower back. Jared suddenly wished he could just ride a horse to work.

             The train pulled into Jared’s stop and he steeled himself for the massive cattle rush of exodus.  It was another crush of humanity, clawing, heaving, forward toward unfulfillment and mediocrity. The train doors opened and Jared was swept away in it.

Thursday, April 17, 2014


I did it backwards,
I fell for her before
she knew it.

Now that she
knows, but knew
it all along.
What now?

I’ll make it up,
I’ll live a life
imagined, that


I’ll work it all
out, every moment,
every kiss, every hug,

Every kid, every spelling bee,
dentists and college,
I’ll imagine it all.

Yet, she’ll never,
know, cause, it’s
not the same.

She’ll never see
my fingers fly over
these keys.

She’ll never hear
everything I have to say,
over and over again, and over.

I’m a passing fancy that met a
passing fancy, whose fancy wasn’t
all that fancy.

But I wish I was old,
and she was old with me,
and we could look back
on the day.

The day,
the past,
that moment,

the light,
the sound,
the wind,
the cold,

The heat.
Before I knew,
before what's known.

Thursday, April 10, 2014

Date Night

             “I will not succumb to the fraudulent nature of the real world,” said Connor.
            Jane looked up at Connor over the brim of her coffee cup. Steam clouded her eye glasses.

             “What are you talking about,” she asked.
            “I’m just saying that I don’t like the dialogue in this country these days. It’s just so much half-truth and misinformation. I just don’t know what to trust anymore. I can’t really even identify what the truth is,” said Connor.
            “Truth is what you make of it I suppose,” said Jane.
            “So truth is a choice?”
            “It can be. You can choose to believe something or not, so yeah, truth is a choice,” said Jane.

             Connor scratched at his nose. A habit Jane was getting less fond of with every face to face meeting. It was only their fourth date and she’d kept her hopes up for something romantic from Connor, but all he kept pining for was some type of philosophical debate on every subject under the sun. Why were we here? Who was God? What type of Father did she have and did she get all the attention she needed from him? The questions were sort of fun. She felt sort of special that Connor would be so interested in these things so early on. But then she started to notice he asked everyone he met these types of questions. He got into a super long debate on their second date with some knucklehead at a near-by bar over the value of art in society and public schools.

            At first she was intrigued by his passion, then bored, then a little drunk, then a little interested again. When he first asked her for her phone number she felt amazing. It was a delight to be chosen by this man, this young, sexy man. It made Jane feel something she hadn’t felt in ages. It made her feel desired. She played coy on their first date at a local arcade and he told her all about himself and his adventures and his family. She got an Indiana Jones vibe from Connor and she could hardly contain her own sizzling desires.

             The waitress came to their table and asked if they were ready to order. Connor was still contemplating the menu. He was still struggling between his love of cooked meats and the perversions of animal cruelty. He was starting to think he might be a vegan, but then, he did like chicken. Jane put her menu down, ready to order.

            “Can we have another minute,” asked Connor.
            “Sure hon, take your time,” said the Waitress and she walked away from the table.

            Jane felt herself getting annoyed. Connor hadn’t even tried to kiss her, well, kiss her with any conviction. He’d given her a quick peck on the cheek when he’d met her at the door of the restaurant. It was a friendly peck with a half hug. Jane hoped for more because Connor was a very handsome man. He was really the most attractive man that she’d ever dated. He was chiseled and healthy, good hair, nice teeth, good family, no baggage. He was tall and strong and Jane felt the urge to tear at his clothing the first night they met, but she resisted after getting sucked into his deep wrought conversation about the toils of his two years living in Africa helping a village develop clean water solutions.

            “So, do you know what you’re having,” asked Jane.
            “I was thinking about the Halibut, but I’m not sure,” said Connor.
            “I’m having the chicken breast,” said Jane, hoping to encourage him to pry his eyes away from the six item menu.
            “Yeah, I thought about that…,” trailed Connor.

            He sucked at his bottom lip. Jane thought all his manly charms were wiped away in that moment. he looked like a scared six year old boy, terrified at the something lurking in the closet. Jane sighed sadly.

            “Something wrong,” asked Connor finally looking up from the small menu.
            “No, no, of course not,” smiled Jane. 
            “Ok,” said Connor.

            He returned his attention to his menu and Jane took another sip of her coffee. It was cooler now and didn’t fog her glasses. She pushed them up her nose a bit. Connor put down his menu and looked at Jane as she placed down her coffee cup.

            “You know when I said that I didn’t want to succumb to the fraudulent nature of the world,” asked Connor.
            “I do,” said Jane.
            “Well, in that vein I’d like to talk to you honestly, and I hope you choose to believe it,” said Connor.
            “Okay,” said Jane.

            Connor looked around the small restaurant and then back at Jane.

            “I don’t think we should see each other again,” said Connor.
            “I just don’t think you’re up to the level I aspire to be,” said Connor.

            Jane leaned forward as if to capture the words before they got too far past her ears.

            “The level you aspire to be? What the heck does mean?”
            “I don’t think that you and I can communicate on a truly intellectual or philosophical level. I think I want something more, deeper, in a partner,” said Connor.

            Jane was about to reply but the waitress suddenly appeared at the side of the little table for two.

            “Are you folks ready,” asked the Waitress.

            Connor looked at Jane as if inviting her to go ahead and order first because that was the polite and chivalrous thing to do. Jane leaned back in her seat and cleared her throat.

            “I guess I’m ordering first. Let’s see, I would like you to bring my companion here a large plate of clues because he clearly doesn’t have one. Also, if you could then dump that plate of clues over his head and then drop that empty plate in front of him. Thanks,” said Jane.

            Jane stood up from the table, grabbed her thin spring jacket and faced waitress.

            “I’ll have the chef whip that up special,” smiled the waitress and she turned with Jane from the table and walked with her toward the door.

            “Jane, oh come on Jane,” called Connor after her.

            “Good one,” said the Waitress.
            “Thanks,” said Jane.

             She went outside into the cooling spring night and felt better.

Monday, April 7, 2014

Laughing Inside Hurts My Face

             I saw a clown going into a liquor store on Saturday night. I kid you not, an actual clown, in full make-up and brightly colored outfit walked into a liquor store.  He wasn’t wearing the big clown shoes though. Which is only logical because he drove there and there’s just no way for those huge clown shows to operate effectively on the gas and brake pedals. The very picture though, of this actual clown, walking into a liquor store made me laugh hysterically.

             This act was incredibly tragic and comical. It felt like the complete devastation of joy and death of childhood imaginings. A clown, really just a regular guy, an entertainer, going to fill his comedy guts with as much booze as he could possibly muster. I wondered what would drive a clown, a fully decked out clown, to drink. Of course there’s the whole death of clowning to consider. I’m sure clown college enrollment has plummeted since most clowning has been deemed beyond dorky and simultaneously horrifying. I suppose that this clown’s life ambitions of fame as a bringer of merriment have been dashed too many times and a trip to Whiskey Avenue might be his only solace.

             He was fully grease painted across his face, a red smile extending far beyond the natural realm of human smiling, a jaunty little blue hat, yellow shirt with colored pockets, a pink flower and royal blue comically short overalls exposing long socked legs, and gym shoes. (Again, driving in clown shoes just isn’t safe, come on now.) His pace toward the doors to the neon mecca of booze was a funereal cadence. I could almost hear a clown version of taps playing amid my chuckling.

             I laughed. I laughed hard. It was the clown nightmare of children coming true and it was too damn funny. As the traffic light changed and I pulled away from the corner, I looked back in my rearview mirror to see the clown step into the corner liquor store and I suddenly felt bad. I felt as if I shouldn’t have laughed. It seemed wrong to laugh at a clown’s pain instead of his colorful antics with a seltzer bottle. It was a tragedy. As I continued to look back I saw the beat up old car the clown had parked. It wasn’t a clown car, it was a compact car. Just a regular late model Honda, beat up but running. Probably the best vehicle this clown could afford on his meager clown wages. There’s nothing funny about that.

             I started to think about myself, as an unpainted clown, trudging my way into bars and late night greasy spoons. I wear a smile on my face, but inside there’s a circus of sadness. I make jokes and pull the occasional sight gag to hear the laughter of those around me. Laughter is the real drug, not the booze. The people don’t know the depths of how terrible it is to be a clown. I thought about how I might actually respect that clown. It must have taken some considerable guts to walk into a liquor store in full clown make-up and order a six pack of Old Style and a bottle of Old Granddad, maybe a nudie mag, and still hold his painted face high.

             A down on his luck clown, just like me, waiting for the perfect pie in the face. A pie made of opportunity, of love, of admiration, respect, decency and financial security. I wonder who throws those pies and if I would have had to go to clown college to get a Master’s degree in Dessert Comedy Sciences.

There’s the joke. A cruel hilarious joke.

Tuesday, April 1, 2014

April the 1st

I cut off my fingers,
I spent all my cash,
I buried a duck,

I drove a bus mad,
I found pirate treasure,
I made Jesus cry,
I took too many chances,
I told a big lie.

I pushed her around,
I stuffed my face,
I knocked like a maid,
I went to the moon,
I printed money,
I had a son,
I made a big deal,
I kissed the pope.

I drove in the ocean,
I turned blue,
I carved up a giant,
I took your shoe,
I sold the cow for beans,
I put a cat in a hat,
I wiped my nose on your sleeve,
I made it rain,
I made the wind believe.

I built a jetpack,
I solved ADD,
I came up with WTF and MTV,
I broke the mold,
I told the best joke,
I made the young old,
I invented patience...,



I told you so…