16,163. MECHANICAL MILKMEN ARE ALL DYING OFF

MECHANICAL MILKMEN 

ARE ALL DYING OFF

It's that time of the seasons now when things

change off  - a three day respite, perhaps, from

anything at all  -  the land is open and dead, yet

fraught with all that will be new. Let us raise a

toast to that. At Least. Well do something.

-

All around us, gentle, chosen ones, are idiots

and fools knowing pretty much of nothing. In

the darling morning, they eat their Bingo chips

but not each other. Destitute sailors fall over;

Popeye cannot find his Olive Oyl.

-

I've painted ne fences with a whitewash of blood.

If it took me all Winter I swore I'd get it done, and

I did. Now I can be a wildman again : I want no

entreaties. I am going on my rampage any day,

and will not by stopped but by Death.

-

Any dogfaces trying to outdo me will

come up a poor second. The new leaves and

the new forest growth will bury their sorry asses.