No pueden salir volando las mariposas.

No me importa si están listo:

necesito su calor.

Pero mientras trato de guardarla en su tarro,

aletean lejos las otras;

y mientras trato de reconquistarlas,

la ultima me deja

y me deja sentirme bastante frío.

Basta, ya.

Entonces es mejor que yo use prudentemente mis reservas,

porque dudo que yo pueda capturar no más

no más.

The butterflies can’t fly ‘way.

I don’t care if they’re ready:

I need their warmth.

But as I try keeping 1 in its jar,

the others flutter ‘way;

& while I try to recapture them,

the last leaves,

leaving me rather chilly.

Stop it, already.

So I’d better use my stories wisely,

’cause I doubt I’ll be able to catch any mo’

any mo’.

Bitter punch only tastes sweet

when one has someone else to aim it @.

& no, you can’t scroll down the inner window with that scroll bar on the right; that inner window is fixed tighter than a Zax. Nor does pressing Enter work.

The good news is that I was able to later get in thanks to ‘nother common web design flaw: good ol’ inconsistent design.

Suddenly, finally, I woke from that long, fevered dream, only to find myself in an empty, dark void.

Damn.

¿Te he dicho del cubo?

¡El cubo!

¡Tan pequeño que me aparecería ahora,

pero tan gigante que me aparecía entonces!

Se llenaba con juguetes diversos de comida y platos,

muchos de los que tenían etiquetas de marcas imaginarias.

A menudo yo imaginaba los tipos de empresas imaginarias que las manufacturarían.

Cada mañana de domingo,

empezando a los 6,

arrastraba el cubo a mí cama

y para horas hacían juegos extrañas,

como los dibujos animados viejos y raros

que mostraban en la madruga,

como Jabberjaw o aquellos episodios de Scooby Doo que tienen los Globetrotters, Cass Eliot y Batmas como invitado.

No fue el eón que no aprendí lo que es arte,

sino sí fue la 1era vez que creó arte.

Have I told you ‘bout the tub?

The tub!

How small ‘twould seem to me now,

but how giant it seemed then!

‘Twas filled with various toys o’ food & dishes,

many o’ which had labels o’ pretend brands.

Oft I’d imagine the types o’ businesses that would manufacture these.

Each Sunday morn,

starting @ 6 AM,

I’d drag the tub o’er to my bed

& for hours play strange games,

like those old, obscure cartoons

that they’d show late after midnight,

like Jabberjaw or those episodes o’ Scooby Doo that had the Globetrotters, Cass Eliot, & Batman as guests.

It wasn’t the eon that I learned what art is,

but was the 1st time I created art.

No!
  You can't leave.
Not yet!
...
    We've just started.

I won't let you!
...
[It slips out the fire 'scape.]
Though in my eye 'twas all the time,
it 'scaped my sight till th'apex of its flight.

Where did the warm orange tea go?
Ran out the door hours ago;
& it didn't even take its aftertaste.

Remember the times inside rainy days?
When we'd save Toad from dumped paint?
You were there--you'd know.

I remember all the warm dank caves.
You didn't like them, but I did just the same.
(& this is 'bout me, anyway
--make your own shame.)
When they seem lost, I get a glimpse o' their glow;
but this time it seems as if they're truly gone.

Today I saw burnt-black mushrooms on the lawn.
Maybe they'll be fed by rain.
But I'm sure it'll leave them just the same:
slid out the 'scape in just the same way.

That's how they get you, it seems:
feed you up on that bitchin' graham cracker cuisine,
till it digs a li'l hole where it always lives,
& then they try to fill it with that lobster shit.
Not me.
  I don't know where it's been.
    I'm not ready.
      I've just started.

Please may we have peace?
That blasted sweet melody!
Do do... do, do-do-do...
             Fuck, I can't even get it right.
                     It won't last the night, you know.
                               Nothing will.
Don't think your childish inanities are too good to go.
                              'Sides, now we have a heavy beat.
Bum, dum dum dum-dum...
I can't that right, either.
Say, this reminds me o' that time I was ill.
Isn't the way we look back @ such seeming tragedies kinda neat?
          Yeah, me neither.

& you know what's sick?
I'm sure I'll look back @ this with a slick grin.
Well, no, I s'pose I've exaggerated;
I'll look back in an autumn o' content.
How we cheer @ the leaves regrown,
ignoring their predecessors thrown.
For though I know I look stupid bending my own stem,
  Know some o' us aren't smart 'nough to stop.
& 'sides, a'least I get to hear those groovy tunes in the interim.
  Da da da da da-da da...

For hours I’d gaze up @ those spritely flames

Bourn by the coupling ‘tween sunset & clouds,

& meshed e’en mo’ unscorched in icy rain,

With thunder white & hot—& just as loud.

I spread my arms & wait for rain to flood

Around my body, soul, & coupon stashes—

Veins running @ the touch of such cold blood

Till filling my soft stomach with warm splashes.

I’ll always miss the weather you display,

Every morning, night, & all the days.