The Four Despairs of Lumpy

older i get

lighter i feel

like suffering has melted

my muscle

a skeleton skin bag

filled with gas

—-

unstable air fights

for access to my brain

so i smash my head

into the oak desk

just to callous up the skull

—-

children call me lumpy

they love to push the gas

up and down my limbs

like a grotesque popeye

life-sized and breathing

—-

my toes barely graze the dirt

and i have taken to heavy clothes

i once thought

my suicide would be the easiest

just float away

and burn up in the yellow sky