Lakoforder Poem by Maxwell Searcy

My heart soars so high when I think of later that now falls to the wayside and the future springs up to the frontside.
Summer does a backflip and you turn bitterly cold.
Winter cold.
My thoughts are so icy that
they should slap a turtleneck vested polar bear on the front and sell them as
Blue Raspcherry.
But They don’t.
And you know They.
They works with Them in the Those Building making this and that do that or this to who and whom for when and why to get there by then or else.
And I could tell you what “else” means
Or a dickshunairy could. But we won’t.
Because…youknowwhattheysay.
And I don’t feel the need to write it down
So I’ll type it up
And
Left
And right.
And left—
Left—
Left, right,
Left…
Marching in time to the rhythm of twelve years old to an offbeat tempo of
sixteen
with sheet music from the 19somethings but
something was too long ago for cultural relevance because
when I say
Norm.
They don’t even know it’s a name.
I can’t raise a glass to that.
Infact— Icanbarely raise my glasses to that.
Icanbarelyfeelwhativefeltforsolong
I can barely remember nostalgia.
And I can bearly think these skislope thoughts at this point.
My icee machine is a courtroom full of cafeteria lunches with the obnoxious girl that sits at the table next to you right
behind the witness stand.
And I really hope she doesn’t get left
behind bars for the rest of her life.
Because some day I just might look her up
behind the yellow cover and create an if.
I mostly hope because I really wanna be let down.
Yea. I’m
out of order.
Can I borrow some?