On the Upswing

On the Upswing
no one cares
when you're on the upswing
feeling fine
like your shell is made from wood and wire
the phone rang more
when you were driving toward madness
now that you're peaceful
you washed up hack
nobody knocks on doors
or calls your name from the street below
phones don't ring
messages don't get sent
now it's quiet
silent
i can hear the grasshoppers farting
outside my window
across the street
in the thick brush
watch stops periodically
putting it up to your ear
hoping that you hear a ticking
because no ticking
is worth ticking
right?
Fucking right.

Oh boy

return to ice box
cody
i say return to ice box
we are
kids who pass in the hall
without glancing up from the floor
hands in pockets
greasy hair
dragging a bag of kitty litter
behind us
gradually losing our sand
through the hour glass
helping bad people
find a place to shit
even though
knowing
they'd shit on you
if given the opportunity
degeneration
they play on monkey bars
and we just watch
with discontent
and malice
and ride our tricycle
into the teachers ankles
laughing
the whole time
lighting trash cans on fire
and laughing
the whole time
showing our private parts to others
and laughing
the whole time
pissing in the class garden
and laughing
the whole time
we are
frail bones
covered by twisted chunks of flesh
but we find a way
to continue on
this path
of mad laughter