Archive for April 1st, 2011
New is bad for me.
Stress is how I cook myself.
Turn down the temperature.
I’m new during every step.
I measure my badness.
Meditation softens the new.
I forget my meditation.
The new twists my bones.
It makes me too old.
I’m not at fault for my age.
I’m at fault for wasting my life.
The new is my shark
who only bites once and holds.
Stress is a bubble, paralyzing bones.
Without the new, I sit alone.
In peace, stress is how I cook myself.
I’m looking for symbols. There are none. I’m a broken dishwasher sitting next to a pea green couch that smells like cat piss.
There is no truck to pick me up. Pickup day is tomorrow.
Sometimes the spinner thing works. The tea cups – I can’t get them back to white. The water inspires the soap to work hard, but I don’t work. The results are dismal.
The kids threw a gallon of white paint all over the blue tile floor. Where is the symbol that tells me what to do?
I’m hoping the pipes burst and carry me away. The pipes never burst when I want.
The kids scrub the floor for hours. It seems to get better, but streaks of white are everywhere. The kids eyes are bleary.
A broken dishwasher is a heavy, worthless box. People chop meat and vegetables on top of me. They also cut bread, but they don’t chop enough on me to keep me.
I went to the pharmacy drive-through, but it wasn’t my pharmacy and all they had was a used baby mattress with a lot of stains. When I get a job working outdoors, I want to be the guy who sits in the driver’s seat and watches the other guys work. I wonder why the guy who sits in the driver’s seat all day is required to wear the fluorescent vest. I wouldn’t wear the vest.