I’m not here really

The bath wiped some time off my skin

but it’s only hour 9

and I’m braindead

there’s this unfocused layer underneath the mask of my face

that’s named Bleary or whatever

He’s not real sure what about this English language he’s not sure about

but prone to wiping his hand acrost hisself to express his innermost

feelings and that will have to suffice

So if a poem could be about a guy wiping his hand acrost his face

then Bleary could come through for you bigtime

Madeline loves him

don’t ask me why

but she tolerates him being quiet like that

She talks and he listens or so she thinks so

And when she swings her hips and he gets that

big dumb grin on his face, dipping all embarrassed like

well she just about loves that the best there’s just no explainin it

She just gets the biggest chuckle out of him

so in conclusion

That’s just mammal magnetism is all I can say