Greetings to the Bradford, PA crew. This weekend's gonna be off the hook at the Coheed show.
Here's a new poem.

*www.theworldisnotforsale.com*

"It's good to see you again," I warmly said and faded off into introspection
I'm such a bore at parties
I hid in the corner behind a wall of faceless, sweaty bodies and meaningless chatter
Or I band on some crappy guitar and promote myself to executive in charge of ambience

And it all breaks like the 7 year mirror
I'm confused and scared but strangely elated in anticipation
The sheer unpredictability of the moment delights and sickens me
Yes, I'm quite literally sick to my stomach

I write with a pencil that says "MITCHFIELD K. JONES" printed in all capitals above the cartoon images of coolness and felinity
It's nostalgic significance is integral to the aesthetic balance of feng shwe (sic) in this room

I know I'm not changing the world, but maybe I can at least clear my conscience
And stop spiraling downward into this matrix of self indulgent ecstacy
It goes no further than skin deep
It is no more like a revelation than a banana peel rotting in an art deco wire trash basket