family life

I no longer know what I'm searching for; it is 5:10 a.m. I went outside, looked up into the great sky, and saw a star, maybe a planet, and it felt like I had found a place where I belonged and had had contact with myself alone. I called out. I want to go home, back when I could roam and love free, but I go wherever my soul calls me.

I still do not know what I am doing outside. It is now 5:15. I am naked with my coffee in my hand, trying not to burn my most personal parts as I try to hide behind the bushes as the neighborhood watch walks by. My head is wrapped in tin foil. I swear I just saw Eliott and e.t. ride their bicycle across the morning sky, throwing me Reese's pieces for breakfast and the morning newspaper because no one reads anymore, and I locked myself out of my house, yet the keys were in the door.

I still do not know what I am doing outside. I'm just thankful that the one guy with the baseball bat does not know that I'm sleeping with his wife because she loves my poetry, and I hate her cooking so I can keep my boyish figure. You know I'm not only going mad, I'm getting old. It is 5:30, and my dog has finally done her business; I'm going back to bed before the alarm clock goes off and the family life begins with kicking and screaming, and all I want to do is beg Scotty to beam me up.