These repetitive tappings that fall to my fingers 
go nowhere and mean nothing,
try to outrun my thoughts and
finally win the race I run with words.
I am not always able to be as attentive 
as I would like to be.

I do not want my cat to become a meal for wild dogs, 
out of selfish reasons. 
If the wild learn to feed on the domestic,
everything, the blueprint I created 
for a life of brightly lit perfection 
and mainstream thinking that actually 
amounted to something more than 
obscurity of reason, 
will be ruined.

relief is sweeping over me like a disease 
making my life a living hell and making 
everyone else's a walking waste of time.
creating a world that does not understand
its own hallucinations.
for it is here, boy, 
and in here 
and here, 
my ear has begun to ring, 
and now the ringing is very slowly fading, 
it is gone now,
I am afraid I have gone deaf or worse, 
brain deaf. oh god to be pure again. 
to not feel the pressure of my brains idea of what everything already is.
I am coughing quite a bit now,
dry asthmatic coughs like the ones made by the old woman who has been dying 
for a long time, 
and will continue to die for a long time still. 
She walks everyday, 
just to punish herself, 
but more to punish those around her, 
who must listen to her dying.
She's a stupid old bitch anyway. 
And not to mention a crummy metaphor. 

Worry about me.
Bearing gifts of sustenance 
does not give you permission 
to interrupt a man writing 
as furiously as I am right now!
Don't be mad, its okay Michael. 
These things just happen sometimes and
on occasion we feel the need for attention.



better if I die suddenly, and they 
would have to clean me up once I started 
to smell and offend the neighbors. 
then they would feed my questionable meat 
to the cats and dogs of a world that suddenly realizes they do not love 
animals at all,
they just love to step on flowers, 
they love to organize their thoughts in such a way 
that leaves out flowers all together,
and makes their life a parking lot, 
all the gardens paved, 
all the flowers made in factories
and all the dead people piling up 
because they can not sink a shovel 
into the blacktop.
I am lying next to one of the corpses,
and he winks at me.


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