A Disagreeable Outlook
Apnea. Angina Irritable bowel syndrome. The world closing in like rewired Nazis. Prison camps full of deviants. We have to stick them somewhere, get them off the streets before they get hold of our children and point up at the moon.
A heart scraped clean of love, scabby substitutes for the impossible dream. Ten times ten is a hundred, high math for the drug-addled brain.
A happy face means an empty mind. A full plate means we haven’t started eating. Burn holes in an armrest, a life ending badly.
A secret message tucked in the crease of a cancer cell. Nine days to set the record straight.
Here comes the end of the world, here comes the headless horseman, here comes a fat bishop with rings on his fingers and a hairy catastrophe tucked under his tunic. Here comes the night janitor to wipe out all traces, here comes a sad childhood memory, floating down like a leaf. Here comes a swarm of ant-sized excuses. Here comes midnight with its ghosts and goblins, here comes some dude with an abacus.
Dial 9-1-1 and all you get is a busy signal.