THIS BECOMES THE
ONE FORGOTTEN
I have no plans, and there's nothing
going on : I live in an empty valley,
one to which Sancho Panza himself
has never come. I play dominoes,
sometimes, with the Spirit of Darkness,
but pretty much that is it. The phone
company took away my contacts,
long before the ark and Noah too.
-
Now, this pedal-pusher lady with
whom I cohabit is sometimes long-lost
gone and I sit here drinking tea with
Lords and Bishops. Early Grey Tea
really grates my ass and the scones
are too sweet for me.
-
Sometimes I wonder about things,
and then I just realize, instead, that
I don't understand a thing. So why
bother, and why the fuss? If, as I do,
we grant 'consciousness' to all things,
then how can I stand the sound of the
grief and the anguish? Sun burning
cars, cars killing deer, deer killing
plants and trees. All that noise
should really be deafening. Of a
horror, and of a pain. Everywhere.
-
I can't write my essay because my
fingers are dead and there's nothing
to hold a pen or type with. I could be
one of those guys who types with a
pointer on his forehead, but then I'd
probably poke my eyes out and go
blind instead. Jesus, Mary, and
Joseph (such a happy family),
what's the use? This all just
becomes the one forgotten.
No comments:
Post a Comment