Monday, June 20, 2011

Me Too

The disease has moved up to my eyes.
Something is ejaculating out of my eyes.
It's green.
And it adheres to my cheeks like honey on a spoon.
I have an appointment tomorrow.
Make sure I go.
Pull a string out of my ass.
Tie it to the clinic door knob.
Please make it easy to swallow.
Black tea.
Whisky in my hair.
Talked about nuptials. Slid the details past our molars like old people talking about cars.
When I'm old I'll take up tennis, and home brewing.
And I'll keep scribbling and jumping my best though it hurts to breath in.
Have to.
Have to.
Many, many projects right now, folded like a deck, unfinished yet functioning not at all visible from the front lawn.
Worried he might not win the second one.
What would we do?
Who would be left to fuck?
Drive long distance, riot the west.
God bless the skin toast,

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