I’m sick and tired, of wiping (burn some new woodcuts) society, off of my face. It’ time, to, flip out. Learn taxidermy, properly. Seek the secret codes, of denial. Sponge off the latex, splurge, like, a car wash. As an incompetent, I proved to be second to none. There are no chapters. How’s that for an opening? Life is wrong, and no amount of Hail Mary’s, or Halleluja’s, can alter, that, immutable, fact. Someone, said something, about chimpy, baskets. Thank you, amazing sewer lid readers, for sticking it out. This means, I’m done, writing, for now. The upper peninsula, is my region, not your, region. We’re gonna’ sit right back down, on it. Don’t call me, here. Beverages, on the double. What sorts of things, does she contemplate, on her, back porch? Models, invade the buffet. There ain’t no message. We don’t really want to hear, other people’s assessments, of us. I became, watery. The smells, coming from my room, shock, and disturb, even myself. Every trick, I’ve got, has been pulled, five times. May, hit me like a truck, June, should prove to be no different. I can’t fool anyone, because they can all, read my mind. There sure is a lot, to choose from. I’ve lost control of my half hour, increments. She killed a pheasant, barehanded? The market calls for shorter sentences, but, that is just not working out, anymore. A thick, film, covers us. From this side of the tracks, well, whatever’s untrue, appears to be the other way, and, so on. The local scene, just, isn’t. Take a… put a little bit more into it, if you don’t mind. Do you know the way? Lawnmowers, with extension cords? The fling, went well, until the “explanation phase,” of it. My head is feverish, and beginning to swell. The garage, gone, the abandoned hotel, is infested, with roaches, and rats. Very tired, very tired, now, I’d like to apologize, for my abusiveness. Give up (start at the top), resisting, the suit, is flame retardant. The front row creep’s, will stare. Soon, paper, will be a status symbol. Search, as we will, there is nothing to find. How could our mouths, fit so much shit, in them? Stomach the end, make your way, downtown, towards where things, really happen. My intention, is not to be a trivia answer, to a question. How much gas, do I have left? What kind of a creepy show, is this? This is a kind of hopscotch, I just don’t, get. Why do you keep (be doomed) revisiting the Hi-Lo, anyhow? He ended up having to cut out, most of the controversial scenes. Gallivant, through the backyard, garden, like a mole. This is one of those, disasters, where you gotta’, close your eyes. The veins in my hand, switch position, with a surprising, frequency. Keep your secrets, to yourselves. Ask about the towels, yes, I am pathetic, but, please, don’t hold that against me, until all the evidence, is brought forth. Do not trust reality, or, your own interpretation, of it. The idea, the initial, idea, of what this…anyway, it’s, gone. Ask for a jury trial, the “secret sister game,” was, no crime. How can people, stay enthused, for this? Put your all, into whatever the hell it is, you wind up, doing. My life, is the walk to the scaffold, to hang, you, and I, are on the out’s? Don’t begin, again, with the sex stuff/obsession, please. Ain’t no, free time (too much). Laundry day, leads to the contemplation of various, and assorted, stains. Hang the wet towels, up. The leg, has been sleeping, all day, and all night, long. I don’t have a reason, for being in your backyard. Baby, get up off the couch, and let me know what it is, you’re really (I’m a pixel), thinking, about (oops, addicted again). I have got to start thinking, about more important, things. I’ve fished off my last pier, it seems. Two Cloud, lost a lot of residents, after the factory, closed. I want to be known, but then, quickly, forgotten. I can’t imagine, or picture myself, standing in line. One minute, a clown, the next, an angry, raging, charging, buffalo. All you can think about, is like a ghost, you can’t exorcise. It’s starting up, already, that secret thing, we do. I said something, off-color, about sniffing panties, next thing you know, I’m in jail for thirty-six hours (or more). Should I seek treatment, for this disorder? These are my innate pulsations, which is to say, that I am in no way, responsible. Put down my photo, of the whore. It took all day, to do that thing, that I’d put off, doing. They don’t make chairs, like that, anymore. Wait just one minute, here, these drugs, are, potent. Just a touch, of vile hatred. Put a bow on it, wear the bonnet. If you only, knew. Her voice, pissed the truth, all over my embarrassed, face. It all seems, to be, so damn, difficult! Watch, just watch, the whole thing, dissolve. This is only the daily quota, the bitterness, leaks out. The Colonel, didn’t die, for me, or, my sins. There is no mystical knowledge, to be had. What are you people hiding, underneath the tablecloth? If I don’t watch myself, I’m gonna’ get kicked out, of here. Wink, wink (look, who are you?). I’ve got to perform some act, do something, function! Of course, it’s a seething cauldron, of contradictions, but, everybody already knows, that. Do, what needs, doing, to get it done, resist, singing along, to the jewelry store, jingle. Take the square peg, and force it into the round hole. Every job I’ve ever had, has been to “make ends meet,” well, they never met. All my idealism, is long, gone. Mumble, to the crutches. Stop having, fun (violate te law).
