“C’mon baby, I’ve got gusto!”

She restrained.

“Catch my fervor!”

She pulled from the bottle.

“Embrace the night!”

She grimaced.

“Don’t make that face!”

She smiled.

“That’s it baby, let’s get reckless!”

Another pull. Another smile.

“Yeaah!”

To think: another night almost wasted.

I sit here alone, in the middle of the night, in a cold house,
under a quiet light, in a small chair, resting my sore feet on a distant table,
thinking about my first day on the shit job, and I can't believe this morning,
less than sixteen hours ago, I was crying.

Like I deserved something more.

How relieved I feel now.

To know,

The world owes nothing.

Two Pot Brownies, Eighty-four Ounces of Beer, And an Undisclosed Quantity of MDMA

This one is better spoken. Try reading it out loud if you're feeling playful.

MJ Thriller hot tub head bob

outside steam rise fog machine

werewolves and zombies no room in here

not moving don’t want to

could not do

beat it supernatural monsters you’re no son of mine

that’s against human nature and so is melting

but I’m boiling in this roiling

need to strategize can’t think just do

popping out solo still got the nod-nod-nod on

to the song-song-song

sweeping ‘cross the porch all cool and flow

chlorine droplets go drip-drip-drip

towel off the hang and in hand

now I dry-dry-dry

then go inside-side-side

another world of lights and noise then captured in a tractor beam

gaze locked to computer screen

pulled in with every step-step-step

surrender to the missing puzzle piece

that fits the deepest nook of me

virgin connection receiving infiltration

hook-up and download

now I'm 2.0 and after that watch another

and I am 3.0
then 4.0

on and on until my upgrade is finished

now I will operate differently

and when I reboot to complete

I wake up the next morning and think

Michael Jackson is good, but Nine Inch Nails videos are fucking crazy

We're Here To Get Each Other Through This Thing, Whatever It Is or Thanksgiving

To Target Corporation who pays me $7.75/hour to not think about myself,

to those who think about me even though I’m gone,

and to my Family who continues to be my Family

even though we don’t understand:

I give thanks.

Day Off

I just woke from 13 hours of exhaustive sleep and now I’m huddled over the bathroom sink, shoving a toothbrush in and out of the putrid hole in my face.

            “He has risen!” my sister mocks. She posts up inside the doorframe. She points, “Do you know what that is inside the rim of the toilet bowl?” I swivel my head. It’s speckled with shit stains. “It makes me gag when I try to clean it. Would you like to?” I swivel my head back into the sink and continue brushing my teeth. I pause for effect,

“I would like to clean it!” My sister laughs. I am funny to her.

“I will give you five bucks if you clean it.” I don’t pause this time.

“OK.”

I am a goddamn custodian.

I didn’t pause because of my secret. A secret only yet known by me and apparently my subconscious: I am saving up so I can get out of here.

“And when Grandpa gets here this week he’s going to piss all over the seat and the floor.”

“I’m going to be rich!” My sister laughs. I am funny to her.

Piss away Grandpa.

The Difference

The difference I suppose, between people like Asimov, Bukowski, Camus, DeLillo, Ellison, Faulkner, Goethe, Hemingway, Ionesco, Joyce, Kafka, Lawrence, Melville, Nabokov, Orwell, Pynchon, Roth, Shakespeare, Twain, Updike, Vonnegut, Wallace, Malcolm X, Yates, Zola, and people like us is that they have something to say, while we just wonder, "Who is Q?"

Set Yourself on Fire

There is no such thing as an artist: there is only the world, lit or unlit as the light allows. When the candle is burning, who looks at the wick? When the candle is out, who needs it? But the world without light is wasteland and chaos, and a life without sacrifice is abomination.

-Annie Dillard, Holy The Firm

When there's nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire.

-Stars, "Your Ex-Lover is Dead"