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Sunday, April 9, 2017

Outsider Pieces By Justino Kolosick

Outsider pieces by Justino Kolosick

BORN IN A BUMPER CAR






born in a bumper car
from scratching the steel sky
with your lisp tipped tail
blind eyeing lightning
whilst veering towards
the biggest bang imaginable
sporting a Grand Canyon smile off ward


born in a bumper car
star spangling sparks
watching the launches
of only the best pocket springs
on this luckiest of days
one hundred smiles per hour
one thousand frowns per second
resilient never the less
an infant inferior
pulling all genes up for the task
a clammy cork screwed
abort! abort! abort!


born in a bumper car
pretty, pretty please
slant your humble box:
an idle cube with its sole chair spilling
the black hole beauty buried beneath
her hateful pinhole


born in a bumper car
bracing mid haste
been born with cut brakes
a fast food placenta pronto
premature, I’ll write the ticket faster
an alarming shade of magenta
limber with a whimper
indian style all the while


born in a bumper car
delivering one more sloppy head butt to the pedal
laying tracks without pulling out, fed up
getting left. holding breath.
clawing our humbleness
out and about, the floorboard grooves
will someone, anyone,
get us a fucking towel!


born in a bumper car
a red, white, and blue, slimy jellylike fellow
owning a hefty hint of yellow
dear john this, is quite fitting
for a wide eyed boy, heading out, writhing raw
sprawling cold turkey
a preconditioned prisoner
to his very own traumatized turnkey


born in a bumper car
one tough monkey unfortunate
wails upon his waterbed head
to be surely shrunken mit whole love
utterly lulling via latching
unceremoniously
copping mothers silky siphons


born in a bumper car
before a parent apparent
most likely inherently attracted to a somber bar
where the sporadic stare
with judgment hardwired
is lovingly rare
where the divers fancy the drowned.


born in a bumper car
naming your poison faced freedom
kool aiding your funneling cake hole
heaving honesty.......... burning bridges
which fall, in the face of such honesty
deserve rubble.
most unfortunately
some willingly
some thankfully
“Don Mattingly?”


born in a bumper car
applauding peers, tagging trains
a lion minus his mane
you want accountability
how a bout, a soggy paper airplane
a signal, a mouth to be honest
is folded among us
there is no time to gloat
having been born without a moat
about as dumb as a second coat
the majority embraces the blue note
in afterthought we had hoped for laughterbirth


born in a bumper car
where you’ll hear all the intimate details
sitting on the pilots lap
pleading for a backseat
no doubt bottoms up
swallowing a shotgun
triggering your sadness
pulling your parachute
to a first class seat in a half shell
in a row boat, with one oar, on a door, helplessly selfish
dumbly numbing, every Leo evermore


born in a bumper car
for those who are sinking
seek a few more minutes without pity
either pull them aboard or let them die ignored


born in a bumper car
o to feel the slightest bit of sorrow
for those of us, who won’t see tomorrow
most are asking for another ticket
knowing full well, there is no refund
all should be told exactly where to stick it
now, include yourself


born in a bumper car
nothings fair and few care
I don’t blame anyone for wanting to get out of it
thou hula hoop hilts ones sphere shuttle
an unfettered intro sans full play
smack dab taping an hourglass to thy face


born in a bumper car
all grown up
pooped, ready to drop, wiped out
you better belt out before you bow out
I would hope there are plenty more willing to tow
we’re responsible for watering the wilting
o to be too low to know
o if only the high showed love for the low
lucky’s not heaven sent, honey!!


born in a bumper car
withstanding and withholding
the occasional yet constant fear
of not knowing but wishfully hoping
someone or something will be glowing
when we are gowned or found


born in a bumper car
a tunnel for you
a tunnel for me
we’ll meet in the middle of
a tunnel blown up




born in a bumper car
only to be told
to calmly unbuckle
and slowly make your way
to the nearest exit

where the end of your life begins......





Fred,

Got caught on barbed wire in the rain, one step closer to being done with him,
holding my breath was frustrating the fact I'd have to fetch a ladder to save him,
in order to properly dispose of him, to be rid of him, to blank slate again,
Without the alligator headed teddy bear body riddled with frayed holes
prolapsing cotton in which I had came inside on a regular basis for at least a
Winters break me off a piece of that shame, whom I dubbed Fred without reason before
discovering the ingenious idea at the time, that fucking a stuffed animal seemed sublime,
just slightly better than the sock so wildly favored among my peers,
over the chain link fence cast out and into a forest thinned by fall, hoping
for a gust under a little wing of applause in this stadium of ants with leafy ponchos
that blanket with comfort and put to rest the shunned, filled with cotton and come
well hidden 'n' rotting within the 0-horizon with his emerald green long pile faux fur
unceremoniously draped in dead wet leaves with his blunt snout, an open mouth
baring sharp white flimsy felt triangles bending the threat from his one flat plastic
cartoon eye left openly hinting at its unpleasantly scented presence, breaching in
displeasure of his owner’s decision to put down, while I the owner on the other hand,
like a quivering column matched his stare beyond the fence in the rain, wishing I had
grabbed a shovel or possibly even gently dismembered it.  I mean what the fuck was I
thinking, someone is going to find out that over the fence and into the woods lies an
animal stuffed, relentlessly gored by my very own hot glue gun in a shallow grave, well
maybe just partially covered in leaves on the outskirts of the water treatment plant
directly behind my house, where through a basement window under a warping deck I
crawled dragging Fred, bouncing on a dusty rocky moonish terrain littered with candy
wrappers n cigarette butts, thinking... why on earth didn't I bury him there, what to be dug
up later to be asked, why on earth would you think of fucking that of all things, are you
sick? No! Still not ok revealing why I had buried a stuffed animal snuffed under the deck
outside my basement room window analyzing whether or not my previous little helper
consisting of a standard rectangle pillow vised by my belly between the mattress and the
box spring was any less successful at making me cum, when I came to the conclusion, it
was the subsequent chaffing which sparked the experimental masturbation that ensued by
choosing to fuck a teddy bear with an alligator head filled with clouds named Fred.
Defiled and left for Dead.
Sincerely,

My eleven-year-old self.




Pat these fuckers on the back.

Make them look you in the eyes
Don’t be afraid to bluntly ask the why
Get to the personal questions
Don’t be too full to listen
Sympathize with a different position, place, and past
Ask about family
Remember if they’ve got one or none
In the face of none
Be one
For the bit or the lot
A forehead to the ground
Finds nothing profound
Turn toward a stranger human
Look them in the face
Open your eyes
Face their mace
Martyr your pride
Push nationalism aside
Let humans confide
Egos collide
Just look at what we’ve done
Frustration
Just look at what we have become
Regurgitation
Embrace your neighbors
Resuscitation
Even the awkward waivers
Just take it
This is not a reason for kneeling
Despite what you’ve done
And in spite of what we’ve done
We still have the Sun
So still the Moon
Our will is the spoonful of sugar for
A country at high noon
Teased by a buffoon
Up in arms
With not a hair to stand on
Your fear is puzzling
Your hateful breath needs muzzling
You’re not sprinters
Yet, you kneel to a starter pistol
Only to dig a hole for your
Head to the rock
Ass to the sky
All of our reason has been fashionably wrapped
For the fear of falling stars
You would shit yourselves if you really knew how many there are
Repeat after me
“ We’re lucky to have made it this far.”
There is no sense
Whining and Pining
We have or will eventually
All experience
Grim on a Whim
Hanging on
The end
Of a limb
We humans
Curious with the Need to Want
Ignore the each and persuade the pound
We wish to be wanted
We wish to be loved
We wish to be left
Alone
Human.


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