Outsource
your diatribe
For
thirty cents an hour
Alleviate
your condition(s)
With
extended well-sprung
Pantomimic
shows of her
Gratify
your suspect
Coin-dance
lair of tricky
Coddle
the park bench
As
the soft hands lay with me
Pour
the milky function
Straight
from it’s tap,
A
bovine beauty known
Colloquially
as “nominal bessy-jane”
Driven
to succeed, despite your every attempt to fault your wrist—
Backgammon
supersets of clustered polarity and inner-thought
Conformity,
are but symptoms
Of
a mantra…much larger than anything built by hand
Easy
solvency
The
easy out
Forget
what it is, of which people talk about
Forge
a path, all your own, from individualized stylistics and obsessive push
And
if so, if be it strikes the kindling right
Your
spark will be belittled from all those
Irreverent
sheepling eyes—copy, ape
Polecat
thief…(but) won’t make a difference, as to what those carbons think…cause when
you strip away the dye and tasty tinge from flavored milk…its still milk….it
still comes from cows…unless it doesn’t…
Strap
the vine
Squeezing
ink
Into
cup…
Drink. Drink. Slurp, sip…(and) there’s a
Little
bit of red still lingering upon the right portion of the smile’s curve
“That’s
ok, will taste better when the purity’s been earned” and I think (outloud) “?”
Toss
the leopard in her cage
Dig
up the scaffolding beneath well-behaved cadavers sleeping, in suits, in suits
so many could use to make a first impression, much more civic, much more human. BURY THE DEAD AS THEY CAME TO BE, Let the cloth alone, let it the F(#@ alone
…and
the fragments of neuroses simmered.. still
I
could feel the asthmatic truncated air.
Stale. Dimmed (and)…
Forcibly
(entering
Calm)
“Boy
I sure could need the calm of rest” some voice inside me dressed the
space with, that middling, meddlesome, bead (lets) of sweet, sweet, sweat and
decaying decanters of decadence…
Before
the next elixir in geltab coats arrives to play,,,
Steering
wheel
Abracadabra
Drive
me
Drive
creation forward
In
some whacked out expletively laden flash-bomb emotive carcinogenic shell of
amnesiatic afterthought in-glow
Hop
open the trove unearthed… Bless the tomorrow UNREHEARSED
…and
the ground, or floor, or whatever polity that you dear term— where soles lay to
rest, when not under the weight of homosapienated duress— started feeling awfully
tedious from the too, too frequent tapping, of toes…nervous, nervous, little
toes.
In
the kitchen nook…
Piggy-back
pork-cut loins, lathered in balsamic vinegar, afloat in boiling 450 degrees or
some temperature unbecoming to the flesh of swine. Hunger pains, far too great…(starting to
bawl) outloud. The Carrots,
co-companions of this soon-to-be-eaten, danced in an orange glaze, as would be
done, by any number of underqualified synchronized swimmers, caught in some
sort, of Halloween Fete-like celebratory soiree, where showing off is mandated…so
I guess a dip in the lake of water dyed pumpkin, or vice versa (matters naught)
would have had to do.
…and
then, the pill’s orgasm clicked, as personified by that first warm sweat
originating from the just under hairline mark and the ocular tendency of
flashing those pearly blood-shot whites, unbroken yet. But soon, very soon…the tributaries will
expand/expunge…the light—slowly stretching light from distinction, slowly
providing an opinion on their irritation’s cure…Sleep…well deserved.
I
outsourced my diatribe
To
some other me
My
condition has not alleviated
But
at present, I don’t care
For
I feel nothing.
…doo
doo doo deedle dee doo doo do.
