Fresh Yes Fresno

Does it ever stop?
Does it ever begin?
Much more than an
Artist's brush or the name upon
The pen,
This brush has forklifts,
Adirondack winds,
The elephant within the pages,
A parody of attempts.  A  B
C Easy.  Fool-proof, as is the way
Of things, some things, some things
Hit home more than you can.  I can
Spin weaves, my sister, she told me
All sorts of wonderful things.  Hip-
Hop and hopscotch, butterflies and
Things, wiry worldly one.  Only 14.
Those streets.
Does it ever cease?
Does it ever begin?
The drink within the purse, an allowance
On 1st and 17th, a dream of finer things.
"I bet if you didn't love her so much..."
Shit screams when you're reverse-seeing.
Cha-ching, hindsight baby, honesty, pinch
Hitter, I'm a forced man.  Sitting on the steps
I've done worse before but I think 20/20
Might find it heavy and if the ratings drop again, well,
We couldn't have such a thing now, could we, and hello,
A rainbow, how retro, like wait, isn't Ulysses
Some sort of general or something...I'm retiring my
Name, hitting up the day-glow, R.I.P.
Instead in place of the open sign on the window
I give to each my peace and to each of you
'In the know,' one sound for my beast, one
Sound for my ego.  Lets dare to push the envelope.
Does it ever start?
Does it ever really end?
Contrary I sit for years and
Years have been
Hell-bound and heaven-sent.
A contrite spring of tense
Between the sheets the
Past or present, future's uncertain glimpse.
Before those cannons start to whisper tunes,
O Starry Night, and Frère Jacques, I wasn't
One for reminiscing, I was never one to fool.
I wasn't the only one to go out on a perch at
All, I wasn't the only one who was new.  I'm
Furtively naming Jupiter, against everything I
Call proof, or 'writing on the wall.'  The only 
Thing I can really understand is my experience.
The only thing I can really call this is my furtive
Attempt, negligent man's experiment, an abyssal
Ring of death.  Fuck fire.  I fell in to something
Even more painful and dense.  But then again,
I wasn't the one on stilts for a queen, what a quaint
Sense, imploring the lesions with a lens, the land is
Half sparrow, half loch-ness, in more ways then
10, I'm not even joking, I can't even begin, but
Then again, there I was, remembering it all again
(I'm quite the impressive liar, I've want to remind you)
And it sounds unpredictable, but I'm the best I've
Ever been.  I just like to see the Ocean, much better
Than reminiscing about a friend.  Much better then
Anything I could ever spin, cul-du-sac of riddled
Sands bound to cut the cord but one more flame exhausted.
Arrange the cutting board in saying, existential mis en place.