What few relics I’ve kept tied up with me, thru the migration of me in search of me, now surround me and stare back at me devoid of meaning. At least I retain their archaelogy of occupied space, enough for both my home and my salvation, the funeral party for all my dreams died now of old age.

I shall retire now to the kitchen!

I shall live the rest of my Life in this landscape of my dead and broken dreams. I can do this with you now in mirthful muted reverie.

Let’s tie a collar round my mortality and make her as our pet. And when she fails ill with bellyache, she’ll go outside and eat the grass until she vomits, and then we’ll be ready again for the next outing

to gas station or
grocery store.

Maybe perhaps the playplace under the gigantic M. It’s easier anyway and they’re still happy people  beacuse people go to people and our nonpaying customer status still offers on its value of popular use.

And now for something completely different:

A Poem for June 2nd. 

Do you still drink milk in a glass

Moan when you have allergies

Did you send your children to Sunday School with their sunburned shoulders showing

Do your favorite pants tie around the waist

are you still sleeping in socks, 

Bc your a total lackey peaseant and I love it babe.  ams