cashing in
lint ***** and
couch change
I long scrounged for
at Gardenia Liquors
in exchange for a jug of
the cheapest red wine
found on the selves
of pity, this might be the
worst tasting wine I’ve
ever drank but it was
the best I could afford
at the time
it may be very little or
hardly anything at all
my dear
but this reconciliation
between me and this
liquid fire is certifiable
and factual.
it won’t make me
feel better
in the morning
but at least
it got me through
another night of
desolate smiles.
always filling

      and emptying

                and refilling

                     again and again

                                   like gas tanks
               to get to our destinations
                          like bank accounts
                 depleting from bills and
                    replenishing from moil
                                 like our bodies
         with stress on the weekdays
                 and relief or excitement
                             on the weekends
                                  like our hearts
          with love in tiny little spaces
   like bottles of cleaning products
                   under our **** vanities
               like barrels of toxic waste
                      dumping into the sea
                             like porch swings
              on lazy spring afternoons
                like pews of worshippers
               at Sunday morning mass
                   like stuffing our bellies
              with 99 cent hamburgers
                  and draining our *****
                              down the toilets
                        of the unconcerned
                              like spit suckers
                        at the dentist office
                      like pills of seduction
                                   relieving pain
                  like centuries of people
                    and trees exchanging
             carbon dioxide for oxygen

     it’s hard enough just to breathe
                           but how lovely is it
             to prattle and wail through
    wasted time and non-existence
        and laugh at our faces hiding
                   behind troubled masks
                   because we don’t care
                        to know who we are
               or what we’re doing here
      just keep on filling and refilling
           our embodiment with a sun
       patch of numbing resentment

                     it’s just easier to wisp
                        through the willows
                 than to empirically plod
                       through the bogs of
big ball of burning gas burning brightly
of yellow, red, orange and a hint of blue
and we hardly can stare at it for too long
but we know it’s there because it shines
down on all those wars and the controversy
and the censorship and the beauty pageants
and the sprinkles on the cop’s doughnuts
and the dieting and the President’s hair plugs
and the violence and the buttermilk biscuits
and the golden copulating and the dreams
of ignition and the bank robberies and the
gravel pits and the woman bent over in the
garden with all that voluptuous swaying in
the air and the vicious nature of the animal
kingdom and the dead poets and the living
ones too and all that ugliness and that evil
and the pine tree sap and all those water
bottles and babies and dogs left in hot cars
and at the city landfill where the best poetry
ever written is scribed on some used cocktail
napkin and reclining between some ***** diaper
and your Grandma’s old ****** bag and
all those flags burning, burning, burning
around the world orbiting, orbiting, orbiting
another new year, another Ramadan
resolution after resolution,
fasting and more fasting and….

no one can escape the sun until
they jump off the edge of forever
but at least I can turn my back
from it and close my eyes to
watch the sun spots floating
in the back of my eyelids
and I wonder why
it just sits there
and has been
waiting for so
fashionably wearing and flaunting...

~Tap Out t-shirts doesn’t make you strong
~Ramones t-shirts doesn’t make you punk
~Metallica t-shirts doesn’t make you metal
~Tuxedos doesn’t make you elegant
~3 piece suits doesn’t make you powerful
~Priest garments doesn’t make you holy
~A habit doesn’t make you righteous
~Bikinis doesn’t make you attractive
~knock off brands doesn’t mean you’re poor
~high end brands doesn’t mean you’re rich

you are not your clothes
you are not the clique you got roped into
you’re just covering up your ***** body
because someone who died
a long time ago
once told you
to do so
if you’re reading this then
you already know that:

sleep kills boredom
food kills hunger
**** *** kills pregnancy
technology kills freedom
alcohol kills performance
chaos kills order
work kills living
*** kills time
time kills life

and you’ve wasted your time
when you could’ve been doing
something productive

like ******* in a bottle
and making a profit
off of the little sheep

just like Malort
his name was Chino,
although I never met him,
I knew he had a job in HVAC
and he lived within walking
distance from where I worked
but I wasn’t interested in him though
I was interested in his girlfriend
and every morning as he would
leave to go bring heating and
cooling to all the townsfolk,
I would be getting off from
my overnight job to walk on
down to his house, sleep with
girlfriend, drink most of his beer
and eat his leftovers and I always
made sure to leave one bite left,
just to be an *******.

this went on sporadically for a few
months and according to his girl,
he was never suspicious of why
his beer and leftovers were gone
or why there wasn’t any love
for him when he got home but
eventually as time comes and goes
so did his girlfriend as she broke up
with him and moved out.

I was very contemptible
in those days,
not caring
what I had done to others,
not caring
what happened to me.
I was doomed and reckless,
carrying around my burdens,
paralyzed to the repercussions
and I thought if I unfurled my
pain and unhappiness onto
others like a welcome mat
it would make me feel better
or at least take away the
misery and grief
but it didn’t,
it just annexed more hatred
onto an already cruel world
and that was no one’s fault
but my own
but with a stronger, fitter,
healthier change of heart,
mind, soul, mood, personality
and attitude and a better
perspective on life
I became a higher quality
of being for myself
and onto others

and if I could take it all back
I would starting with getting
the opportunity to meet Chino
and drop him off some beer,
some food and hopes he found
someone who treats him better

because the girl
he was with
who didn’t,
I heard she found
someone else
who doesn’t.
this one ***** that one
and that one ***** this one
and this one ***** this one
and that one ***** that one

and this one is jealous of this one
for ******* that one
and that one is jealous of that one
for ******* this one

and all these this’ and thats
have weird fetishes
with animals
or the dead
or *******
or *******
or farting
or feet
or dolls
or multiples
and some sickos even
involve their own children

and there’s not a second
that goes by that there’s not
somebody out there *******

and sometimes it’s quicker
than an antelope
and sometimes it takes
forever and goes nowhere
like playing a game of

but with time and gravity
they start to sag, start to grey
and become scaly
until this one’s neck
starts looking like
that one’s *******
and that one’s *******
starts looking like
David’s rock slinger
that killed Goliath
until they’re used up like
a Kleenex tissue, thrown
away and then no one
wants them anymore

and a fresh crop of frustrated
this’ and thats come along
and start the whole process
over again
and some have moles
and some have scars
and some have birthmarks
and regardless of race, age, ***
if you’re fat, ****, short, diseased

they’re all people out there
******* each other

as the bed squeaks
as the car rocks
as the boots knock
as the dumpster rattles
as the knees face the sky

we’re all just ******* our way
through life because what
else is there better to do
while we wait?
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