(CHANTED. SHOUTED. READ. WHISPERED. SUNG)

(CHANTED BY 3 MEN
AND 3 WOMEN)

In the middle of the night,
in the middle of your life,
you hear a little rumbling
from something you don’t like.

You get out of bed,
but forget your head.
You go to retrieve it,
find a watermelon instead.

And you try to make sense
but something doesn’t make sense
so you stop trying to make sense
of something that doesn’t make sense.

(SHOUTED BY A
HOMELESS LADY ON
MELROSE BOULEVARD)

“Fifteen dollars?! My man said he’d give me fifteen
dollars for my fish, but that motherfucker
was dead! I flushed him down the toilet!
My man, not the fish…
Punk motherfucker!”

(READ BY A BLIND POET)

I was wearing my genome on my sleeve,
you walked up and let out a sneeze,
we talked all night, until the moon was released
from its cold sheath, you gave me a kiss,
and told me ‘I love you, Chris,’
but my name is Steve.

I have white orchids sitting in front of a white fireplace.
The room completely covered in white paint.
There is a motor home parked outside
and the neighbor’s cat sitting in the window.
I’ve been waiting all day for you to come home.

The wind tastes like licorice,
I hold a Polaroid of your flesh,
your scent of Earl Grey tea and hemp
is all I have left.

(WHISPERED BY A
DRUNKEN MONK)

If I told you the truth, you’d spill your cup,
the world revolves slowly until you’ve had enough.
You’re going through life with headphones on,
but no music, your eyes are made of red protons.

Buddha sits atop the Matterhorn,
at Disneyland, with Chardonnay
in his hand, watching ant-like tourists
with cameras pass, and he yells down
from up above, “The more you try
to hang on to good things,
the more they don’t last.”

(SUNG BY A
FIVE YEAR-OLD BOY
IN LINE
TO THE BATHROOM)

i gotta pee…
i gotta pee…
i can’t hold it in
much more
because…
i got a lotta pee

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