(I'm not extemely excited about this poem, but I have been struggling with the Toad Head again, (depression) and wanted to explore a little. Then again, does anybody even read the poetry section, after all? So here is my preachy little poem about Dead Batteries) I ran down past Highland when I saw the boy. The boy, you, Brian. Black muscle shirt, shorts— your tousled brown head was down, your body hunched, you were sitting on the wall. I jogged a little closer, not yet paying attention. I got to the corner. Your fit brown body was a weave of wounds! You didn’t look up as I passed, busily setting up a perfect scar, carefully, carefully carving another cut. Where were you? Where were you? Why the lacerations and the beatings and the burning? I think, not a good idea! Okay, you’re one man that’s sure I’ll never come across, but does it work? It obscures the billboards and the popups. It hides, like little-kid fingers in Peek-a-Boo, the problem, the willingness to work, the readiness to start. Who’s out there? Cuttings can’t distract from the lengthiness (roots down, splayed in your very name and laugh), or the wideness (who all knows?), or the depth (whether you live—whether you die— whether you rent in the dull abstract green between them) of your agony. Seems beating falls flat. What doesn’t it extract but your meaning and effervescent urge for the clean and the sweet and the Whole? Whatever live it is you’ve got to advertise, bruises shroud like body bags. And is burning such a tearing up for a later rebuild, as a scattering of refuse, plastic edges that won’t decay but stay forever, geometric mucus in a dump in the sea the size of Texas? Brian, tear yourself down that wall! Disappear the dead batteries. Try: Talk, Make, Build, Play, Teach. It’s a way to get away, a distraction from Pain Big Bang, a movement from brainless punishment to purpose which preserves the gift of personality, a graphic in your own brilliant color, form and music that screams I Am: I Talk, I Make, I Build, I Play, I Teach! I Am Okay, Like You! Let’s begin again! Brian, just come off the wall. Use the blades for dancing paper, use the mind to heal and reflect from the length to the width to the depths.