Observations 2

I don't know If I'll ever find
what there is to do
in this one-horse open town.

Observations 1

You know, it feels good
to cover your little soldier
in someone else's flesh.

Teleology of Flesh

You took my soul with you
when you left.
On the corner of thirty-eighth, and
at the bottom of a plastic Rite Aid bag,
they haven't banned those things in this town yet,
you thrust my soul.
We're all just fleshy vessels I guess.
Set drifting on some odious course to a disaster-paradise.
Some crash into each other, board each other's vessels.
Some go undisturbed, uninterrupted.
You took my soul with you
when you left.
You ripped the vessel's captain from the helm.
Now I, captainless, have no idea where I'm heading.
So I'm going to the necropolis tonight
to catch my vessel a new captain.

Possums

I ate the licorice because I wanted to die

because I wanted to see Mr. J.F. Godsman

and give him a grand old pat on the back

"I've always thought possums were your best work"

people are scary

three bright young men on a trampoline

went up and down

and bounced again

when they came down

they walked downtown

to bag a snack of steak of lamb

full of lamby steak I am

the men bespoke to farmy owl

and beat a drum to noise all off

scarf me or be damned

The Giving Tree

Come fathers,
and sit aroundst the Giving Tree.
Moan to it softly. Entwine your tongue betwixt it's spindly branches.
Tell it what you want most in the world
and then offer it something in return.
I gave the Giving Tree my heart,
and it gave me an unopened bag.
I opened it.
And there was Hoggle,
all stiff and lifeless.
That's when I knew I was in love

Franklin Delano Roosevelt, An Essay Concerning Eleanor

Box Full of Ghosts

I was dying on a London subway train,
When a bright light grabbed me
With unecessary force.
"Come into the shit"
Spake the Voice.
A horrible she-voice
Of octaves and decibels
Unknown to most mortals.
Pandora's box is open.
"Go ahead and take a look"
"Fall into it."
"Whatever you want."
I did.
I fell into my ancestors
Briny brains and
The tax collectors'
Handbag which smelled of
The worst sort of dreams.
An ancient sort of man-
Or not a man,
In the eyes of those bloody briny ancestors.
Told me,
Take this for yourself.
Hold it close.
Don't put anything in it.
I did. I did.
And I didn't.
My own box full of ghosts.