Damn You

My first words

pantomimed the violent language

of the ones who raised me up.

They raised me up from an incubator

into the arms of the insecure,

singing softly about forever

while white dishes smashed the floor

in bursts of Francis Scott Key

on a football weekends.

"God Damn You

God Damn You

God Damn You."

I don't even remember the year

but I remember the football season.

The Chiefs beat the Vikings in the Super Bowl.

1970.

My Dad and my uncles

started shouting about the over/under.

Little brown bottles were perched on every flat space.

I sat near the television, enjoying the tingling feeling

of static electricity coursing through my blanket.

"God Damn You

God Damn You

God Damn You."

No one heard or knew.

I was conducting an experiment.

I knew little about God

but I knew enough to know that I was stuck in his world

and there wasn't anything I could do about that.

So I used to spend a lot of time

with a blanket draped over my head

chanting "God Damn You

God Damn You

God Damn You."

I did this to see what would happen.

If I could force the issue.

My greatest fear is that the non response

of my unconsciousness is driving the show. As long as he plays my bloody taxes

Dinah Gettoutahere

Lucien Disguise,

that's a fellow you can set your wash to.

Anna Leakage,

is a lady you don't want to have to follow.

Dave Infamy

carried out his orders

straight to the curb.

He left them in the circular file

with a pizza crust and a spent Trojan

awaiting the long journey to Olympia.

Ian Absentia,

where'd he go?

I always liked that guy.

He said the funniest things

and the thing he did with his balls

in that Moscow Idaho bar almost made me piss myself.

Helena Handbasket

was permanently parked on the first barstool

at Al's on 45th until lately.

What a shame.

Yasser Nasser

sat on the fence regarding most issues of the day.

He did have a thing, I'm told

for Sue S. Canal.

I think they may have gotten it on.

Ray Incandescent

is a bit much,

don't you think?

Me too.

Dinah Gettoutahere

always pulls the fade

when things start getting woozy.

What a class act.

What a class act, people...

Pete and Ray

Fuck it, people.

Your friend and humble narrator

can only go so far down

and give you the play by play.

Yes, one day

we're gonna play this out

to overtime-

sudden death,

if you will.

Right now though

I'm watching two cats

go ape-shit nuts

as I walk through the door

after a day of getting horse whipped.

The little fuckers are absolutely charming.

They yowl, bolt and squirm.

All my cherished bookshelf bits

are broken by these little bastards,

but do I want to tandoori these two?

No.

They and my DanaGirl (who conned me into this)

are my heroin.

They are sweet relief.

They are my trying to get away

from everything.

Get Lost

A ladybug

struggles to climb out of a glass

of stale champagne.

Little fucker is drunk,

stealing the fluid I need

to warm my soulless guts.

Asshole.

I'm contemplating the ash

of this last cigarette

hanging over a yellowed coffee cup.

Ladybug, you've failed.

Ladybug, you're not commercially viable.

You're gonna die.

You're gonna decease never known

and not even forgotten.

What the hell have I been doing?

Strumming and shouting in a vacuum

until I'm deaf and voiceless.

Isn't there something else I can find

to waste this time?

Jesus Christ,

how long does this have to go on?

I don't need you.

I don't need you here.

It's better if you never listen.

It's better if you never knew.

Never knew my story.

The more you learn

the less you know.

Get lost.