I DO NOT KNOW
The hand with the jackknife has just
slit a throat (I feel like Bertolt Brecht).
It's a Pirate Jenny kind of feel given to
the air and the wind and the sea. The ship.
The black freighter. But I stepped back
and decided I wanted nothing to do with
that.
-
I sort of love everything. Yeah, that's true.
All this other gibberish means nothing -
how can I hate a race that professes love
even in its lowest moments? Everything
AND everyone. We tie the ends together
and get a mix of love right in the middle.
-
It seems like everyone is game. The clock
that shows in the barber shop window is off
by maybe 12 minutes? Fast or slow, to say
the truth, I do not know.
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