There isn't a mission. There isn't a goal. It's just words on fake paper, sliding and tripping and flowing all over the place, because we're all full up on words in here and there is no way we can keep them inside. Like Tony says, "Nothing in here is true."

Monday, January 09, 2006

friction

it wasn’t enough
that he put down the drink
ceased to behave like a nova monkey
and began to take the necessary steps.
bought you a house
that he could sleep in while he wasn’t
working both jobs that couldn’t work
as a team because of how different they were.
the jobs.

not enough. he
got a second overpriced piece
of paper with some school‘s
name on it while you bore
children up his ass
superdad
tee shirts to class on his frame
alien to all
that chanced him. Became tireless
self don king-er because niche
required filling.

just enough
sand has filled lower half of hour
glass for you to tell him
about sins extramarital maybe
you should go
to your mom’s house for a while
I’ll stay here with the kids.


enough onlookers
could’ve told him it was imminent
it was a newborn growing
teeth it was enamel losing
it’s luster tarnished from the start
like Valdezed sea life it was
bogged down and stuck
never to rise
unlike pungency of intruder’s
friction that singed his cilia
and burned down the progress
he hoped flame retardant.

No comments: