I touched something a Nazi wore and became unclean; unseen revulsions welling in my core, made my fingers crack and peal, skin—I feel I need the tides to take it back, wash me clean.
I steered the wheel to the beach where I could reach the waters salty, rolling onshore—I need more New Order runs through my ears buzzing like bees, electronic waves in hollow jars— we are one with the seas.
Now gimme that trophy, for writing my ass off all month.
Oh yes—I did indeed fill each poem with fifty uniq-kay words and I pissed, moaned and groaned about all sorts of stuff and I punted at times and I sucked down so much Claritin that I’ve got Breaking Bad, brewing in my G.I. tract, right now.
And I lost my kitty. Oh my God, did I tell you I lost one of my kitties? I’m sure I did. I’m sure...