I lived in a refrigerator
from 1969 till now
It was cool to say the least
(It was cool to say the least)
Man, I've sat
hands folded, chillin'
in a ziplock bag like a lump of mud.
Everyone else was picked out
peeled and fried and ******
everyone else
died, in the mouths of their
lovers, or perhaps it was rapists,
the bedroom, the kitchen --
I see no difference from where I am a-sittin'.
Oh, the refrigerator,
oh, my
real-life satire-of-society
you make me want to be eaten
but you make being eaten so
much like death in the eye.
and I
don't know.
Why.
I like to believe
I am more than a sack of goo to be tossed down the throat
I pretend to breathe
like the refrigerator
I fist-banged on that hard as wood center
between my ******* like a man-gorilla
I was told that's where my heart lives
all cozy-sweet in my chest, oozing out love fresh
like vanilla, but losin' flavor
every second, every day
(every second of every day)
Why does it feel so far away?
Why does everything I want to know
feel far away?
Everything I want is in a *** boiling.
Everything I want is in a ***
boiling two houses away.
Everything I want is inside someone else's mouth.
Won't you wait for me. Give my
pouch a squeeze. I'm spoiling. I'm
only
runnin' on borrowed air, the electricity
of the refrigerator
is the only thing that holds me, and it is always
chilly.
Yes, I want pity. And what's worse, I want it
however you'll have me.
But first.
I wanna stick my finger through
right into my heart blood
And break off a piece to
chew before anyone else does
It would be cool to say the least
(It would be cool to say the least)
I lived in a refrigerator anyhow because
when I was 13 I looked in the mirror
and straight-dead knew
my place in the refrigerator
cheeks wrapped in plastic sheets
body-fat wired in lingerie like ham to-go
served hot on Thanksgiving Day tablecloth lace
(Watch half the male population get out their knives
and pour gravy
all over my baked face)
I understand there's some new age
concern that I'll just
waste in the
refrigerator
but man, I am a product and I am made
to be consumed
and the refrigerator
has been the only one there
to keep me.
And if it's a ****-box, I owe it my life then
in the name of my country, the economy,
and world peace, here I am.
Late 30's, about to expire in the refrigerator
Everything I want is fuzzy and far, always
two houses away
Everything I want reaches its hand to the thing sitting next to me.
Everything I shared hopes with has succumbed to mold
I figured I would help society by making room
and be the one to slay the beast
(Drop your conviction and join the feast.)
A spoken word piece spun together nearly two autumns ago.