today was an alright day.


i just don't really feel like writing about it.


work is fine

but it's only a story you can tell once,
and it's just
i don't even remember any of it.


i go in for my hours and come out
and can't recall a single thing said.

just mumbling and a few faint faces and the next week schedule and other

tedious adjustments
and the fact the mop
is broken

and the dust pan
tilts to the side

and there's never any fresh meat-

but plenty of onion,

and all girls quit in 4 days after they discover that it's indeed ***** and
their acrylic nails aren't suited to scrubbing
tiling and grime.


and my sweat drips
and it still sticks to me.
and i walk home
and flip off ******* driving too close to me - challenging me for the fact that i even
wake up to this
and go at it
day after day after day

after day

after day.,,


everyone's a sadist   --

and everyone is afraid

myself included

but i still dream of flowers in the rain

the trickling



of a cool mist


spills on my forehead----


and the evaporated *****
crusty on my elbows

begin to flake into the ventilation system.



some girl is shaving her arms on the 2nd story,

and beneath her is an ostrich
screaming at an elephant
for its last spoonful of monkey meat.


a man with a hydro-head sips lemonade in the shadows
and jerks himself while old grannies clutch pearls.

a dog
eats an alligator on the 4th of july after watching cartoons in the afternoon.

a priest is being mollested
by a todler

and a muslim is kissing the feet of an abusive female.

Trump is eating cornflakes
while hillary


is reading her emails and arranging for pizza parties.


obama is a limo getting a blow-job from Trudeau,


and Africa is sending foreign aid to the US to quell the ZIKA outbreak.

Reagan is resurrected.

and papa is sitting in an oven getting deloused with Cyclon-B.

meanwhile
lucifer
is knitting a sweater in the hamptons while the kardashians eat strawberries from a **** bowl

and everything gets washed away and becomes a steely white

as the scent of cinnamon
flows through your nostrils

and your blood is injected with happiness forevermore

i once
paid
for a *****


and it was a two for one special-

and she took an additional $40 from my wallet
of which i forgot to subract from the $160 total.

it was after a concert.

and i drove home
then walked a little bit around a pond and fed a few ducks and it smelled from the rotting goldfish
and the old mexican lady washing her clothes with that familiar
stench wafting around.

i was tired.
but i was buzzed for a good 3 days, and i just don't know what i'm even doing anymore
or what this all means.

but the fact that i remembered it must mean something-

maybe that i should try it again,

or at least just buy a doll on amazon for 350 dollars and a new pair of shoes
for
church on saturday
because this other pair is getting kind of ratty.

but really
my head itches sometimes and these people outside want to **** me

and the earthquake
stole my children from me when i was barren for so many years.

years wasted

i remember someone
long ago

asked me why

i liked to walk on the sidewalk
while wearing
an armani
suit in the 93 degree heat.

i told him
,

that sometimes
your style
is a just your manner
of thinking of things

and that oftentimes
your confusion
is just measurement
or volume
of what really is upsetting your past self in a dimension of

satisfactory
fortitude.

then he nodded
and the next
day i saw him in the same armani suit in the
93 degree
heat
telling
all the other people the same thing
and they started wearing their own armani
suits
but it stopped being
93 degrees outside
and more like a cool
23
centigrade

there's a syringe filled to the dropper with ******

and a blackened spoon on the kitchen counter.

he was in the bathroom shooting up and left this one for later
but in a daze
forgot to consider
that others would be home early.

i didn't care.

i've stepped on many ***** syringes before
and as a child
poked myself by accident
a few times as well.

i don't have hepatitis luckily
but to me
it was just an annoying prickly receptacle

full of enough intoxicant to be
lethal to any person
without a tolerance.

i just banged on the door.

''hey if i see this ****
again
i'll break your arm''.

i heard faint mumble from within
and left him to get high.

he was going to leave within the next day or two any way.

must be fun,
and millions are having fun,


why bother them?

they know what they're doing
it's just
the lack of respect i don't appreciate.

and the fact that they get to **** themselves in plain view
while
we die
oftentimes in slower subtler ways

got
up yesterday

and took
a ****

straight into a

can of heinz baked
beans

then placed
back into the freezer.

some days down
the line

an acquantence
found the beans
and took a bite
and complimented my culinary ability.


branches
were swining outside
from the coming
hurricane
and few
lizards
rolled underneat the carpet so as to escape the elements
and absorb the warmth.


suzy
is still crazy,

but she died in december.

george is ugly
like a cancerous bat-faced
ectomorph
but has a heart of gold.

larry is just a ***-

and he knows it.


but some nights
i still cuddle
with dawn
and speak to the mermaids that kiss me goodnight
as i stroke myself
to sleep
in a dull
memory
and voided
receipt that is the 'hour of beguilement'.

i remember going to sizzler
with my mom and my 2 brothers
and some random guy and lady---

all at the table.


and she'd load up the tray with dinosaur nuggets
and cabbage
and parsely
and split pea soup

and swirly icecream

of which you could fill a bucket and

only get a light scolding from the waitress with her 4 freckles.


i'd eat that stuff,
and there'd be faint music and clinking

and dishes breaking
and children laughing and crying

and burps from old people

and farting
from overzealous husbands
who would proclaim flatulance as being a sign of
gratitude for one's meal in
China


if you've ever heard.



and the carpet would be drenched in animal ****

and the air
thick will fillaments
and greasy dust--

and my eyes would water,
and the memories
would be a haze,


but it was always rather pleasant.


and the best part was the red ballon with the 'S' logo.

and it'd pop usually upon arriving home after you sit on it or something like that---


Then many years later
i went back with a friend
and his dad who happened to be pretty drunk
and we were listening to Lennon's "Wheels Go By''


and the waiter
was younger and better looking and had less disdain--

and i just got chocolate icecream.


but there were no swirls.

the swirles were long gone.

dead even.

dead .


and then i flicked my ciggarette into an immaculate ashtray

and a few ladies
talked about the lunch specials.

and my stomach gurgled
and we went
to ihop instead.

dancing on the freeway
while flipping off the drivers and ******* into someone's yard
whilst eating a
lettuce
wrap.


they swerve around me
and honk
and weave in and out of lanes

and scream

and cry

and throw rotten fruit onto me.


fires erupt in the distance

and several
buildings collapse
into thin dust.


ruins are uncovered
showing the slow ascent of man.

discoveries are made,

then the shots are fired

and hit me in the gut
and temple.

it flings off of my chin
and onto the cement
clicking my toe.


bloods spills out
and i crap myself from the excitement.


the excrement collects into a neat pile.


then the helicopter
fro ma distance shouts at me,
telling me to

''GET ON THE GROUND

AND
TUCK IN YOUR GENITALS''

i comply
.


and the news crew
rolls up and interviews me,

and i spit on the womans face

and she ****
and rrubs her *****
behind a bush in the distance.


and i'm handcuffed
and throw into
a van,


and slowly
ripped apart
by
aligators

as they throw me into a laggoon

and spell
my name wrong
on the urn


and drop me into a boiling vat of lubricant for the elederly.


and then my eyes
close


and death
is slow release


and none of my relevatives
are sitting at the gate

,,


just a few

birds

that form a beautiful V
in the rising dawn sky

One more strike in this at bat
Corkscrew nailed into your mindset
But they forgot to double check the bolts
And now they're coming undone
Out of the coffin to come back and take what is theirs
Get ready for the flag to be more than a symbol
Because we don't find wars cleanly