i don’t know what to do. i’ve got a secret dummy. secret dummy, where are you taking me? i want to go where no things are lost and bring them back.
my eyes scratchy from television and i dropped my pen and oh fuck it. do i look fine?
you look fine. you look sat down, fed, washed off, pushed around, buttcreamed nonsense. you’re a good citizen.
i am burning and white wine is turning me into a stupid person. at least my smalltalk rating has gone up.
young girls clutter with closed legs. quick with wrinkled faces, crinkled noses. ridiculous funny as if they’re cunning. some day they will be. i’m surging in black pants.
now i’m coffee shop peter sitting on the carpet watching the clank.
let’s go places and laugh at things and later, die, bitch.
i wrote a poem once. it went a lot like this:
the birds gurgle a hollow note
hardly any time to remember any more
i purport to perceive a purpose
people in boston do it if you ask them to
that should get me an interview with the big guy, don’t you think?
you look sat down, fed, washed off, pushed around, buttcreamed nonsense.
this will take some thought tonight
this infinite space is cramped
in the rich undercurrent of things not said
mmm hmmm. i’ll write something very how do you say
she was beautiful and i was french. yes, she was beautiful. we joined the french resisters. we resisters were right in cutting off our necklines and wearing bowlers. history has been on our side. “garcon, bring me a bottle of appendage”. no one even knows i’m french anymore. i was seduced by her eyes, which are crossed and speak of nothing but folly. one was larger than the other. i know. i know. stop me when i tell too much. it’s all this wine.
let it fly away like a sick sparrow. let it go.
i am touched by your indifference. i plan on making it mine. then I shall limp contentedly into my dressing room. i have gowns and make up and a broken mirror. release thyself, you stupid sparrow. i have no piece of your promise. my crossbow is as heavy as your purpose.
what, mister? you didn’t pay it for me? i thought you were a nice germ.
she was dingwheelie gushing grand wetness. it was vain certitude. her committee of one was in favor of her flavor. order some more. she held it against me, for some reason, her up and comingness, her well adjusted and rightfully so come hitherness. the power of her unmentionable don’t you dare but so you notice. and notice some more but don’t you dare. she got in free, you see, and you should never forget it. she held it up for all to see. and don’t you know that she’ll be angry if she can’t have what you can’t give her.
is this autobiographical? this just in… oops, it’s already left.
countings are inside. gaining is… it! congratulations, it, for the annual premiere recompense sexual of innuendo. you can obtain in addition to your knees now ripe for the picking succulent down to the core lips painted puce.
as correct as you’re gonna get. now get.
mouthing the words like so much flotsam cluttering her head. no wave of relief came as expected. now lurks the feeling of rejection. sweet whistling pitches violently.
everybody’s got a secret dummy. i’ve got a secret dummy. i’ll get me a new one too.
