For Buster.
"We had a cup of tea together and I tried my best to tell her that I loved her. I said many things, but I couldn't say that. I spoke about other things, hoping she would listen and understand. She listened intently, with compassion, then she whispered, 'I don't understand a word you've said.'"
Thich Nhat Hanh.
I
Light the combustible deconstruction of
(ellipses)
garbled ramblings strung together as literature
forged into the unstable structure
meant to collapse under itself and
blow out clouds gray
of inconvenience
gore and soot
to be scraped off
my boots
so I can
swim the boulevard
as you give a strip tease to the crowd below
and say to me that,
"Crackers dipped in dope is not the epiphany."
you collect your change and go
II
So tell me where did we misplace our memories because I checked the drawer and found sandwich bags. Not that many either. We really need to go to the store and buy more. Sandwich bags, I mean. Not memories. Though, conceivably, if you wanted to, we could.
III
Conversation tells me
that I'm a pervert
losing so many women to other women
no longer seeing the appeal in lesbian porno
Disconnect
I figure out I'm a pretentious flake
no-- I'm a random amalgamation of applied genetics and static electricity
actually, I'm a concept too simple to be tested on.
how about a composition of molecules of destitution
and fragmented atoms of depressive alcoholics
let's try nonexistent
self-absorbed
composed of half-assed flashes of inspiration
and pitiful abbreviations of what people are
or what they wanted to be.
The SUV of my own environment.
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