On xanax, I want to
save the world. See it,
save it, savour the lady
who tells me it's 'jargon,'
the newspaper. It's 'jargon,'
all those books you don't
understand and thus return
to the library. 'Jargon, jargon.
All-right, fair enough, have a
good night.' A blustering, fat
-bodied strangeman, walks in,
talks of homeless hairies who
cut in front of him at McDonald's,
rudely assert their desperation
with greasy foreign hair basing
down the nape of their neck,
beseech the poor fat ******* to
his last-straw tossed toward a
health minister who won't 'speak
for himself' but has his secretary
'speak for him.' what the hell is
that? he asserts, face in a squeeze-
pause and a left-side lazy eye bowing offward, 'ridiculous, disgusting.'
'well, I hope you have a good
night, take care,
sir.'