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Rocking chair leap-frog, had me on top of a plastic Friday, I've made a fool of myself, again. There are no girls to introduce to your mother, everybody's dead. How to get beyond this anatomy? Would you mind paying half? How to cope? Total drunkenness, absolute inebriation, it was like walking through a video game. Too good, and bad, to be true. The candy cane dancer, with a chorus of children, providing the voices, that will soon change… see you in church. Feeling oh, so, tired. How to cope? The guilt of expectation is dragging me down, again. I am not in the least bit, afraid of you. You will be had, by me. People will soon start looking for the exit signs. Realizing that all those pages written about getting rid of her, are a year old. There wouldn’t appear to be much of a middle ground, with me. What does this mean, are there any better examples? There's no way to explain it, there are no better examples. Are these sentences? There are flowers on the side of the highway, right where the plane crashed. Manic depression, made us think we were doing fine. Sit your ass down! Positive sides of the same question. How would you define this? Many angry people are picketing the farm, they are screaming about free food. Maybe there's no reason to go on anymore, that’s a little squib of mine. Please don't wink at me... listen, I've got the facts. I slept, and my neck, became unhinged, my arm was twisted, and sublime, I fell into the middle of the room, like I was a piglet, taking his first steps. Or, that time I collapsed into the coat room. Fry my brains, kill me, sell me used cars. I've looked out at the snowdrifts, and tried to act some way. Facing the end, and not knowing where we stand, right now. You're basically trapped, just like I am. I saw it typed, saw some possibilities. There were dreams of millions of dollars, three split the prize, but they will not find me here. There stands the returnable, and recyclable, cash, that I need to get me back to Ireland, where I can inhale from disinfectant sprays. Fumigate the room! We discussed, that if you've made up your mind to do something, I wanted to say, the ideas never end, but obviously, that's not true. Let's say, that sometimes, the muse is right between our ears. Plug on, he says, of course, now, even he's selling something. I'm encased in cellophane, what direction to go? My eyes are unclear, as to the true nature, of that finger/fire trick. There is a blanket over the door, that can double as a towel, when they get moldy, we send each other off to work. And we wish that things could be otherwise. If only we'd have let our egos grow, just a little bit more, incubate, just a little bit longer, we wouldn't still be in the Shady Glades mobile home community. I pack her lunch, she packs mine, we juggle the car, and never do the dishes. There are footprints in the snow, because we live up here, do you understand, did I make it clear? While we're on the subject, this thing I'm doing, doesn't have a name. It may be poetry, but really, I don't believe it is, this will be called, “Thing Involving Writing, Without a Name.” Sometimes I think that my sides are going to crack wide open, and birds are going to come flying out, this is how it always happens, with those Chinese absurdist puzzles. I'm starting to smell like cold cream, I'm really not feeling that well, yet, I do not know what it is I'm dying of. The numbers keep increasing, no one gets elected to carry the totem anymore. The Roshi is teaching yoga, and I'm a boar/bore, without a spine. The year of the dog, or, was it the pig? There is too much space to crawl forth. No one's out to get you, they couldn't care less. What crumbling foundation did you stake your claim on; knowledge, experience, religion? The wax is drying on my hand, I can’t sit this way too much longer; avoid observation, use more direct methods. The live, half that, and flail conundrum. Salt and pepper, in the same resealable package. Please, tell me everything, I can't even look them in the eye, the eyes aren't the window to anything. And the pain, the drain, and the cork, the wine, and the Muslim, and the moose, and the pig, and the swine. The smell of urinal mints, is one constant. The word I hate most, is passion, I don’t know why. Wax melodramatic. We thought we were the one’s, “living well.”
Brilliance is a far off star cluster, psychobabble, is a language that we speak. It looks as if our daily planners were left out in the rain. They're all graduate students by now, only I can sit here, and watch it all shuffle by. And I will mingle amidst the wrong crowd, rubbing elbows with sinners, so honest, they're saints. I have done so many nutso things, that I’d just rather, not have to sit here and think about them all. I will seek out the dark, in my mind, and elsewhere. The insects would impale themselves on the thorns. I will copy the method actors, I will charge a fee, plus expenses! Lastville Bank and Trust, is closed. I must stop getting into trouble. Those piles of paper are forgotten nightmares, that I needn't be reminded of. This particular section, is the oldest, hence, it needs the most work. He asked me if I was okay. The answer was no, but I took a long, long, time, to say that. Turn the other cheek, and they'll smack you there, too. More product, contradiction, irony, algebraic equations, X's and Y's, in my hair, and my ass, like festering boils, that don't go away. The other side of my hip, is rolling around now, it's bone against bone, and it must find its brother. Elvis never needed any pins inside of him! The incalculable instants before ideas become visible. Straighten this crooked thing, out. They are starting to notice. Looking into vases, and jars, at estate sales, to see if anyone hid anything inside of them. Some of us think too much, do too little. I'm not looking to grab something for nothing, I'm trying to find out what human beings really are. There really is no hope, but don’t despair. Some people really do seem to fall in love, they save napkins from first dates, and keep dry flowers in old coats. I don't know what I'm talking about now. This is cut open plenary worms, droning their jiggle, through the trails, that their other halves left. Why should they blame the guy with the razor blade? You can't voodoo me, especially with that ugly face. I've cruised the Hellespont, and the Danube, I've done make up work on Lesbos, and crawled up to a look out point on Crete, I've jumped off of bridges, been tarred and feathered, the world is in my pants. My knuckles are like little pieces of corn, the chicken feed for the grey, furrowed brow (laughter ensues). I’m infuriated, we’ve got to hurry up. How can things just circle us like that? I could have definitely loved her, if given the chance. How much longer must I wait, yes, I've already answered my question; until you can suffer no more! And I've still got physical ailments, to look forward to. Too aware? Too aware? We all get found out, to be digital, and binary, linear, and zeros, all of us, nulled out, and voided, by some guy with a suitcoat, in a, "used-to-be-Kringle's." I've witnessed all of you in the throes of argument, it's really hard to take a position, so I took a side, just to spite myself. Where does he get these ideas from, and why does he write them down? It's nice to know that people care, while they're here, I don't know if I'll ever be able to leave, this, despite inclinations to the contrary. I've got to stop putting my hands in my mouth, I'm cloistered like a monk in drag, lonely, like this ruin, that everything is waiting to become. I saw your face, and your hand, in my rear view mirror, I listened to Brahms until I could listen no more; whoever would listen, I would speak to. We're being blown around the living room, by imaginary wind, the trees bend not, just stare, and snicker, and say nothing, there is no vulture to castigate me. Caligula went too far, and Aquinas, with his sunken face, you should introduce him, to your girlfriend. Emptiness stands alone at the foot of the bed, when you're not looking, little creatures with their little exaltations. The wheels on this sensory node, cannot turn us fast enough, I’d just assume not wait, until an emergency, forces me to reconfigure, or capitulate. The buzzard is flapping it's wings, in circular motions, my face thrust into the coffin, by its own volition. I saw how you split yourselves in half, but I couldn't follow. This sounds like a waltz, but it's really your funeral dirge. "Why stop at red lights?", the corpse says. Don't call me “the shiverer,” it'll screw up my identity, again. Throw your watch away, in the garbage, you knew you wouldn't need it long. There are ways of telling, I suppose. They deployed me to Limbo, I couldn’t bring my luggage. There were too many repetitions, again. Yes, it was a trick floor.