Pit bulls and pinheads, bullfrogs and spiny fins,
brothers and sisters.
Well. Well. Fuck the punctuation. That bucket sunk in the ground. Fishing for tadpoles, where a more emphatic pause jostles to be received.
Rejoice. The abject demolition of the lung, the pin pulled on a nebulizer.
Better just to dance after the bandages come off than raggedly recite a weather forecast in reverse.
1976. #7. A dragon. The fire snake asleep at the hearth.
The summer has not delivered. The promise of a mistrial. The master wind blows ill, a lot of hot air in the bullhorn.
A Honda backfiring at the traffic stop.
I have not taken up a cigarette in more than sixteen weeks. What is the point ? Better to give up finally than give in to last requests.
We are smoked. The bacon fat curls the edges of a knocked off Qur'an. A prop. A counterfeit. 114 units of varying lengths, distressed like orphaned pigs' tails.
I have not done much writing. I walked a good deal. Then I came down with a virus. A cold. Man flu, a nurse uncharitably quipped. They were all out of nuns. The best of them got eaten up by airstrikes. Dispensing alms to unbelievers, hogtied under hospital beds.
The faint rash of a sun tan came to nothing in the end.
I have grown tired of confederate effigies I strive to sculpt by rote. I have grown secular as a dung beetle.
A schizophrenic tried to put me straight and failed to proscribe my meandering. My gums continue to bleed in the bathroom sink of a morning. The teeth themselves remain mostly intact.
Aside from this, I am quite well, thank you.
6 comments:
Back to suffragette city, fuck the world. Nice to see you again.
Dr. Psycho, used to be my hero, got raided by the DEA just for fun. Nothing wrong, sorry about that.
Cut all his pain clinic patients off and went to work for Kaiser, our version of National health service, the possible creator of the man flu.
Thank God for Mexico and methadone.
The secular God,I mean, the one underneath the one that has never been.
Religion, now THERES a virus for you. Help me Jesus
Nothing quite so eloquent from this Ø. Just glad to have you back amonsgst the crawlers. Drop me a line if you feel so inclined.
They took my bloods for awhile. The associates. I managed to convince myself that they were busy concocting elaborate sweetbreads to go. A black pudding supper at the very least.
Dr. Psycho appeared to be your safest bet. But everyone is getting turned over, or in, it seems.
A lot of people here swear by methadone. I stood in line at my local pharmacy once while an OAP argued that he ought to be able to procure morphine so long as he had the cash. Abolish prescription charges altogether and everyone not unreasonably assumes that the best shit can only be obtained in exchange for hard currency. While dispensing with the middle man.
There is nowhere further south for us to go than below the waterline.
NØ.
I am just hearthened that you continue to sling the tuneage like some fried or otherwise soused short order cook.
The vegetarian staple from Sun City took me by surprise.
"slinging the tuneage like some fried or otherwise soused short order cook" is now my new tagline. thank you so very much.
Hey. I'm glad it appealed to you enough to use as a tag. For a moment there I was concerned I may have caused offense.
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