A pile of worn clothes sleeps on its side of the bed, me on mine. It is about the size of an average female human with minty breath and nice tits. I leave it there, add not-dirty-yet jeans, remove a sweatshirt, toss a bag or a damp towel. Time-lapse twists and turns while slow-motion dreaming. My arm over the pile, but no kiss goodnight. No, I do not kiss it goodnight. No.
The herd of black socks with gray toes and heels came in the mail: ordered them online: the good feeling is too much: it should not feel this good: I do not deserve it: or the socks: they are soft.
~O~
flex baby flex baby one two
It flexes and sways up the stairs, a nose away from my nose. It is all I can do not to plunge in and never come out, but I just suck it with my eyes. What is that, cotton?
Boots clomp, purse swings. The one who is gone used to wear boots like that, but better. I used to pinch her butt as she climbed to the platform and she would pretend to mind. It is harder to pretend not to mind.
Turnstile beep beep beep. Hustle past elbows and bags to the mark. Whoosh train.
Sick of the subway stories? This is the only time I have to write what I want to write. Some put on makeup, type texts and email emails, read a book, salsa in ya ear, sudoku. Coffee cups wearing napkin hats sit in seats like they paid the fare. A kid sneezes all over a baby and laughs.
The man who made me will ride this train tonight. His hands shake when he wrrrits and t Yppes. I will hug him, look in his eyes, around them, the lines, the brow, the lips, the nose, the cheeks. They are mine, too.
Rumble over the dark river, the bank freckled with yellow, brown and gold. Everything is dying, my favorite time of year.
~O~
Boots clomp, purse swings. The one who is gone used to wear boots like that, but better. I used to pinch her butt as she climbed to the platform and she would pretend to mind. It is harder to pretend not to mind.
Turnstile beep beep beep. Hustle past elbows and bags to the mark. Whoosh train.
Sick of the subway stories? This is the only time I have to write what I want to write. Some put on makeup, type texts and email emails, read a book, salsa in ya ear, sudoku. Coffee cups wearing napkin hats sit in seats like they paid the fare. A kid sneezes all over a baby and laughs.
The man who made me will ride this train tonight. His hands shake when he wrrrits and t Yppes. I will hug him, look in his eyes, around them, the lines, the brow, the lips, the nose, the cheeks. They are mine, too.
Rumble over the dark river, the bank freckled with yellow, brown and gold. Everything is dying, my favorite time of year.
~O~
c'mon please seriously
My knuckle is swelling like the neck veins of a conservative radio talk show host. I almost broke my fucking thumb hooking a sock off my heel, but that is not worse than having to shake my piss-dripping dick like a baby who just refuses to shut the fuck up. (Don't make that face, motherfucker.)
When did this shit start? Oh, right. It started when I noticed the circles of piss on my pants every time I left the bathroom. I shake longer than I piss now. And it started when my bones became brittle like dried out driftwood. Do I even need this thumb? I cannot pick my nose with it. And it is barely useful on this shitty iPhone keyboard.
One guy: hey, I have a serious question about being a vegan
Another guy (who hates catching shit for being a vegan): ok fine
One guy: so if a chick is vegan and she gives you a blowjob, can she swallow? I'm thinking no
And that other fucking guy got reelected. Can you fucking believe it? (No, I did not vote. So what.) Is Grumpy Old Man a disease that affects the middle-aged now? Yes. And anger is better fuel than anything you can pay for at the pump. Oh, wow. There it is. The answer to the world's problems: rage as an alternative energy.
What, you thought it would be flowers or love or some shit like that? Puhleez. There's not much of that on the highways or in mall parking lots. You have to think about these things, dummy. Cars that run on hatred would never need to be refueled.
Free advice: Never eat two hotdogs covered in macaroni and cheese AND a basket of fries for lunch, even if you are not a vegan with two working thumbs and pants that are not stained with widening circles of urine. Trust.
~O~
When did this shit start? Oh, right. It started when I noticed the circles of piss on my pants every time I left the bathroom. I shake longer than I piss now. And it started when my bones became brittle like dried out driftwood. Do I even need this thumb? I cannot pick my nose with it. And it is barely useful on this shitty iPhone keyboard.
One guy: hey, I have a serious question about being a vegan
Another guy (who hates catching shit for being a vegan): ok fine
One guy: so if a chick is vegan and she gives you a blowjob, can she swallow? I'm thinking no
And that other fucking guy got reelected. Can you fucking believe it? (No, I did not vote. So what.) Is Grumpy Old Man a disease that affects the middle-aged now? Yes. And anger is better fuel than anything you can pay for at the pump. Oh, wow. There it is. The answer to the world's problems: rage as an alternative energy.
What, you thought it would be flowers or love or some shit like that? Puhleez. There's not much of that on the highways or in mall parking lots. You have to think about these things, dummy. Cars that run on hatred would never need to be refueled.
Free advice: Never eat two hotdogs covered in macaroni and cheese AND a basket of fries for lunch, even if you are not a vegan with two working thumbs and pants that are not stained with widening circles of urine. Trust.
~O~
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