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Shut That Thing Off
A wart on the inside of society's core shoot throws a curve ball towards the camera of petrified solitude. The imported Tecate brings back dusted delusions of youth filled Mexican motels, two snoring buddies passed out, me drunk, stunned to be in a new country, taking a dump in a drawer, thinking it’s the funniest thing in the universe. The next day the lazy ones make me throw it out a window, onto the blazing sidewalk. I’m hungover, it’s like a nerf football falling to the ground, it’s not as funny with a headache, but when it splats, it turns into a brown speckled pancake. We drive off into the Mexican sunset in a red Chevy.
A balcony built on the mustered up deli sliced cow tongued- read before you eat- the butcher’s pie garbage. She told me she wasn’t capable of bailing me out of the blue and red bars behind the verdict’s hidden garden.
Good thing my back up kangaroo was listening on the other line, behind the vulture’s authentic grin. He was eight years old, with a face like a grinded down muffin truck. His folks use to play John Denver’s song, ‘Leaving on a jet plane’, and pretend to all walk out the front door, laughing at him, saying they were leaving forever, and ever. He sat inside the same place he has hidden since, a place where invitations never arrive, and the jetliners never land.
A seedless summary strung out on- clothes lined- behind the trailer yard over across the railroad shrimp pier. Yes sir, straighten that act up, or abandon ship. Then the chimp gave me chump change and flipped me off; right when I was about to throw a tomato egged grape jam at him. I had concocted it back in my shack over many a night with the mole, and the wash bucket, which eventually turned into my old crazy neighbors puke bowl.
Tell me a happy story grandpa. Tell me the one about you and your army buddies fishing in that lake after the war.
A trivial Tree was spose to be sprouted around the living room – they are eating the still-shelled nuts. Sparkles and ridiculous tears drop onto a 10 cent can – they called life’s wondering buffalo butt- It was the three legged wolf we took in for a while back in the gecko era.
White eyes, with crimson pupils in the green lawn of a street I can’t recall. Nursing milky eyes back to health, he heads for the mountains with a gut load of dog food. “It’s always the quiet ones that creep me out the most,” Lori says, to the silent wallpapered faces smiling back at her.
Tell me where the ocean falls out of the cereal box cut in the sky’s desired crevice’s- crustated- dim –wit- couch lounge. Who’s that guy? Oh, he’s just a greasy young stumbling stallion riding the Elvis horse to some made up yellow brick toad son. Get back to bed now boy; you have a long day ahead of us.
It’s like a farmer with a bag of burnt toast on the corner of a snowed out intersection with out shoes.
It’s like a good looking 19 year old girl getting off a bus with no money, no home, in the middle of Detroit’s, shall we say, underprivileged neighborhood.
It’s like a Texas tornado ripping through a car full of roasted lamb shaped hot rods, while the sun burns the over priced leather seats.
The timer wasn’t set to the frequency requested- the watery gravy, which was steamy, yet liquefied into the density inside peanut buttered relish sticks. Ever let a chicken eat chicken mcnuggets? That’s when they will turn on you. That’s when they have the taste of flesh salted sweet- and- sour sauced- blood pumping around saliva glands, like an anorexic on steroids, like a crack head on heroin, a drunk drinking tea, like a village of idiots chasing me down belly spiced toxic tunneled explosions. Ever let a duck eat –at -a- all you- can eat bread bar, till it’s intestines blow up from selfish indulgence? Big bird was bartending, you already knew Gomer Pyle was in the back cooking yeast and Yorkshire puddings.
A bean is blown from a jar of nasal scented mints. A sleeping solution in a sand bed of re-rocked vitalized touchy two headed composer’s cookie crumbs.
A trumpet you can eat with my banana-waxed solution to hunger filled no liquor law Sunday rain. A swimming pool of comic booked torpedo zits.
“Bring that to the teachers desk right now young man! You can not keep mice in your pockets; you little drug-ladled troll of a prince. Now go down to the big D sector and scrub the world a new brain with your free toothbrush, and while you're up there search for my papers on the revolution in time! Quickly boy! Before they close the clouds again!”
“Right away Mrs. Snoopledunger, right away ma'am.”
Velocity controlled river rafted paddle burger. Secrets served in boiling plum juice, with a grenadine gulped steak bone. I wanted all her porridge after licking my bowl clean. Heart transplants at such a young age. A stroke wasn’t requested after the waiter tripped up a trip mine, that was left for the mouse made eagle. More Tecate senior.
We are in Hawaii now, laying on double beds; we are watching the love boat on the squared thing, there’s a man outside this 13-story room, walking on waves in the warm night air; with Honolulu dancers massaging his formation. I ate sugar. I ran around like an innocent ant. So content, so youthful. I’m jumping up and down on the bed, 13 stories high, with an old man mask on, till you finally scream “STOP IT!”
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