forget (an August poem for the weakening sun)

If there wasn’t such a hate in this heart, such a trainwater stink, maybe I’d be happy and make money between fair skinn’d babies and watch television every night with a loud woman rubbing my feet…

Maybe the market would matter and matter would matter and all the physical attributes of the divine work could be illuminated by the phantasmagoria of white digits across a blue screen of ATM…

Maybe this senseless mind would catch up to these titans of industry, pull itself out of the janitors closet and fly fly up the corporate ladder…maybe the library could start packing Bukowski and Fante and Celine


If there weren’t such pricks on the street, maybe I’d walk it with the rest of you, prickless and free and swinging arms clutched to handles of a leather briefcase, eyes buried into another information update…

“Piss off,” ” you suckfish…” “I’m going to the fucking bar,” “Where’s the money?” like a paper store manager needs his mongoloid stock boy to try and read the letterheads on the racks…

Maybe we’ll smile, over thin bird lips and a bag of peanut shells… Maybe we’ll smile and all pretend this is the pinnacle of existence, never knowing when we’re getting the shit kicked out of us



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: