Picaroon Poetry - Issue #1 - March 2016

Baby We’re So Cliché it’s Cliché
Dean Rhetoric
Me and the Cliché, Leaving love codes on bank vaults,
fresh bread breath kisses, lick picking through padlocks,
Disguising ourselves as clouds on Halloween and
hocking spitsies at the meanie kids
Cliché and I. Liberating all the unloved animals,
killing hitchhikers, pickpocketing pulses and waving dead skin
at passing cars.
Homemade clothes, turtle shell ties and wet paper towel tights
singing hillbilly poetry on the porch
Lazy Sunday activities with cliché, throwing fake limbs
into privately owned parks,
hysterical laughter and violence, arguing over the difference
between
roses and skulls, falling over for attention,
holding hands between mouthfuls of innocent bystanders.
Coffee tastes better with cliché,
inventing a secret language and
proving its diameter.
Mixing breakfast cereals,
getting sued. Cold calling the Illuminati at sleepovers
to ask if their eye is running, kicking the living
sugarpop out of me, inspecting the fluoride for government
secrets
Sweet Cliché, cheering on the fat man
running for the last midnight train,
surrounding him when he doesn’t
screaming hillbilly poetry on the porch
sucking all the light from stars
and proudly watching her
flower children
dance.