Blue Cotton-Candy Bubblicious

wrapped around a bullet

backseat of an SUV, there it is

evidence of a love-letter to his own mouth

black and milds have

that taste of cake

disappearing into your spit

a dance outside by the gas pumps

the gas pumping outside the pump

into the tank like music into ears

tattoos and sore muscles

a soreness at the core

of his skull , um, you have to have fun

the necessary volcano

where is it?

deep inside there,

where his eyes start seeing

what he wants to see and

then he can't see shit

so he needs a pack of bubblegum

so he can blow phosphorescent motherfucking

sky-blue bubbles

planets you walk on,

gun in your hand

smile on the face, almost innocent

but still not right

cotton-candy smog and a slow

way of breathing until the electric

current takes over, and then

a staticky martian voice

whispering beautiful shit like

i want you

I want you right now

(dedicated to aaron hernandez r.i.p.)