babble

ah yes, the moments of
splendour,
they like to spread out,
the spilled blenderized drinks
would otherwise coat the counter
if it wasn’t for those drasted cloths.

and I would be the spiller,
the oxymoron of the kitchen
who likes the colour combinations
of what happens when
bubble teas leak their pearls
all over the place
and their tears make even the coolest
of trendy white boys
clot up inside in their lacrimal systems.

what? what?
ah yes, the realizations of
complexity,
they like to melt away,
the ooze of the guilt that
once solidified in the hearts of
every lost boy and girl who felt nothing
but hatred inside for existing.

and I would be the liquifier,
the thawer of the warmest ices
that leaked his own ambitions into the
waiting chilled rigid notions of humanity
the one whose cogent argument for
sanity
compelled even those hardened libertarian
snowflakes they would be better
baked in the sun.

¿¡what!? ¿¡que!?
ah yes, the commandments of
youth,
they like to discharge themselves
like lax moral high grounds
the way the pro-lifers find quick
solace at the sexual options centre
when the bastards arrive.

and I would be the counsellor,
the trainer who has found simple
paths beyond the snowcaps
into the valleys of where we thought we could head.
the one who likes mixed up metaphors
and long-winded phrases
and unravels all that deconstruction brings
with the worker belts and their tax-free boots
the one who knows the flaws, knows the faults
and still is willing to help others
pick up the pieces.