Jellybeans, jellybeans,
they jump and bounce,
hacking checkers on my skull,
yellow being the most annoying.

Do I know what it’s like
to live Bruce’s life?
Do I know he doesn’t
care, or am I wicked?

There are tiny moments
when my medicine works.

Tolerance doesn’t cover it.
Bruce needs to be welcomed,
just as I do,
but he rots my nerves.

My defects pile in
like a spinach car crash
in the fog while I cut
my nails and whistle
about purpose, which is lost
in the shed out back.

Ooh, Carl, don’t fight
the shitstorm, for you brung it,
all yellow and tarred,
gassing the mower.
Swim in it and drown.
Medicine eeks;
Life wasted.

Don’t sleep in the cold.
There must be a place for you.
Love yourself by not beating
your self.

Not one beating.
Today.