Thursday, May 28, 2009

bless me, motherfucker

Walk a little
Stop and stare over the edge of my childhood, upturned cereal bowl
Push some gravel over the edge
My foot flies behind my back and I watch cadmium red, cigarette butts and volcanic shit soar over an Ansel Adams landscape
I bury my hands it in it, pitching soccer balls, beer bottles, rocks
Shitty soft-spoken voice reverberating 5th grade profanities, dime store tape recorder noise
Mach 5 pulls up
A cactus is stuck in my hand
There's a bottle in yours
I puke in the shoes I've been wearing since the day I wasn't invited
I fling them over the edge as well

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