blistering 

blimey cakes 

 wankers! 

    and toffers 

      fuck right off 

                        and get stuffed

oh dear 

 what side of the road am I on?

                  fuck that 

 we are all dying 

                            send a box of candy 

                  to yourself 

   and read a good novel 

     IB Singer

       or Calvino

                 Moravia

 or  

  wth? 

 my mind's gone blank

        Puig 

(pooch) 

    Still there's room for more cursing 

   I've had it!

you can take the whole lot of it

                                                 take it all and burn it out behind the bathroom

 some fuckwad will call the cops 

            and then we'll get 

shot dead in the street 

 like a dog 

   (dog would get treated better) 

 still just take it

please 

     it's cluttering up everything 

     that was once good 

 and pure

&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&




There is no memory
of the pure
   those are lies
             synaptic prozac
                   eat well
        drink
         sleep
         shoot baskets
 and
      run with the dogs
        lay down in the
             sideroom
and sleep
          wait for grandpa
                    he'll be home soon
                             the tv is on




%#%#%#%#%#%#%#%#%#%#%#%#%#%#%#%#%#%#%#%#%#%#%#%#%#%#%#%#%




I slept
 and I'll sleep
 some more
       It's dark now
                         and I can hear the rain
                      The light is on in the kitchen
  and it sounds like someone is cooking bacon
                                                                     smells like

                my face is hot
                I'm going outside to smoke?
              I'll stand in the doorway
                                                     and look in Mrs. Robinson's window



$^$^$^$^$^$^$^$^$^$^$^$^$^$^$^$^$^$^$^$^$^$^$^$^$^$^$^$^$^$^$^$^$^$^$^$^$^^$^

FROM the Notebook- 

If I were 

alarmed by 

the morning dove

of Death

it would not be as 

I put the dogs 

water bowl down,

it would not be as I turned 

on the gas to heat 

the water in the kettle 

for my coffee.

If I were 

alarmed by the 

morning dove

of Death

it would be as I pulled 

on a black sock 

and wondered 

where my 

wallet was.

Icarus

I left my leg
on the precipice
crossed over to the
Land of Nod
down stairs,
stone, and wet,
hair dripping
windows without glass
smells of cabbage
cooking          
a baby screams
my feet are calloused
I break                    
and steady myself
I think I hear them
      no, just my imagination
I keep moving over
downward toward the
sun.                        

From the notebook-

mirrors
of emblematic
deceit-
held up
at gunpoint
or forced
from the road
to the side-
searched
handcuffed
+ left in
a ditch
yelling
come back here!
but no ,
it's more of
a political
thing

like when
you're standing
naked in front of
the newspaper and
it laughs at you
and addresses you
"hey dumb ass can you
believe this shit?! Are
you the only one paying
attention, nah, what
a joke. A fucking
joke. Hah-hah!"
and you feel there
is something dreadfully
wrong because no one
notices, they just order
their non-fat, non-dairy,
decaf latte and
make a call because
they have too many
minutes on their plan---