This is what my poetry has become, and it is a welcome, welcome change from the trite, sentimental crap I usually spew. Be this good or no, I'm just glad it's here:

Breakfast of Champions

Making first crack so egg yolk flows out, like soul, milky yellow soul, pouring out, I’ve never seen, heard, smelled, tasted, shat the soul. Writing is like cracking an egg, omelet, eat, shit, sell so you can find girls who will love you because any girl worth loving knows how to read a good poem from a bad, knows how to read the poetry of every line, crease and stain on your body from every day of work you’ve done, every time you’ve cried rainy tears for other girls, your mother, the world. Every good girl can look into your eyes and see not milky white yolk but her own interiors and let you flail and sweat on her even though your colors don’t match.

I feel like making love to a girl in her own overcast rainy new york day apartment under dusty rafters over old scratched wood paneling floors under a creaky but soft and inviting brass-posted bed that cradles in the best of ways. I feel like looking out a window and seeing nothing but water-drenched brick exterior and the multitudinous forms of aspiration, degradation and memory mulling through themselves, sorting, multiplying. This thing just gets bigger and bigger.

I wonder often. Being another person, what it would smell like. As a full-grown man, submerging. The premier frontier. I imagine girls tasting like a bubblegum lollipop, sweet, sugary, reminiscent of times passed. That’s when weird shit happens.

Cool girls, girls worth knowing, grow on walls like a great big sexy mold that creeps farther and farther away the closer to achieving enlightenment you get, because cool girls don’t wear black, cool girls live with their parents and summon Satan’s thousand forms to hide in their shampoo. I’d like to erect a glowing, flashing, smelling, pheromone-emitting beacon to bring these girls out of their deceptive skins of clothing and human form, because cool girl is something unlike anything else, it’s magic, it’s freedom, it’s everything you’ve ever wanted and will never, ever get. Cool girl tastes like bubblegum and steel.

Cook that omelette, eat full until you die and only you are left.