a sestina

my sestina

mother and father did not feed you; they wanted to, oh well, too bad.

joey ramone, we were not born with a plastic spoon,

just hands, with them ruined the right and brought the wrong.

three hundred in bank, lost house; a baby broken born still,

DUIs and bar tabs: bad investments like phony loans and real-estate suits,

fuck that, some tragedy; histories do not haunt; just that sometimes i cant sleep.

what are nights for, if not to get addicted, yet you want no sleep.

never beat, but we were hit, the thing done when children are bad,

educated well by parents of blue collar, working for the suits,

they bandaged you good with a townhouse, Ramen on the table and a plastic spoon

walked by, went through anger, transformed to blunt, and holding smiles still

you, had to fuck things up again with a semi-truck, you, complete damage, totaled -back to wrong

wake up, stay awake, good morning, cruel world, fix your wrong

i'll sing you a lullaby if you promise not to sleep:

the wheels on the semi-truck go round and round, Barney loves you still

oh my darling Clementine. lost and gone forever. dreadful sorry, but don't make a good thing bad.

let's buy you a mocking bird, to laugh at you. Crate and Barrel has a sale on the golden spoon,

change your bib, stop the barfs and bewitching nights, time to wear suits.

retire father from the 3am wakes and overtimes, it no longer suits.

put yourself aside, there are duties and salutes ahead. why does it feel so wrong.

don't take the NyQuil, you aren't sick, seven holy sinful green shots on a spoon.

studies of biological well-being to endure, like hell your getting sleep.

every bite of the tongue holding back vulgar stories, five cents; hide the semi-bad

soon the piggybank will buy a degree, then maybe if you still-

remain: well-paid, awake, and fed, something great but in complete damage, you may still

be in luck. vacation-time is given to white collared degrees in suits

your nails trimmed clean, your wrist naked of the fuck you tattoo you wanted; but not all is bad

mother and father are fed, and sorry for the past but it's the present that is wrong

it wasn't malnutrition that kept you up, ask that semi-truck, it's because of you that you cannot sleep

so count cutlery; how plenty and so refined, a cupboard of copper, silver, and golden spoon.

a cup of tea caffeinated, use a coaster, turn on Food channel, add a cup and a spoon

of vodka, sugar, honey, sprite and holy water; then see if still

you can walk, or have hunger for sleep- sssshhh sleep, please let me sleep

i want no more talk of you, i don't know if i am you or you are i, don't you know i stain suits

ssshhhhh, my eyes are falling, there is something wrong

quiet, please, sssssshhhhhh, but i dont know if it is bad

mother, father, they'll wrinkle, i can't sleep in these suits

should i bear children: broken and still with golden spoon

in hand. wrong answer, goodnight. i just want the semi-truck to explode. i want no bad.

(it's still not right, its just a poem that i can't get right)