No one can see

this world but me

where aging stops at 23.

And if my body falls apart

I’ll put it in a shopping cart.

For words are more of who I am

not human version of tin can

not boring life with silly talk,

composted garbage heaps of thought.

 

And if you think this isn’t real

then walk the plank of life in jail.

Dead man delivered in the mail.

Racing forward – human snail.

 

Everything I pass along

are in these notes,

my unique songs.