I’m too deep into the dishsoap to clean the blood off of my hands,
The tragic flaws of all my friends are all my fault
But none of my business
Though I vouch for the Navajos their right to text (“dude” … “dude”)
While standing up (like painting a fresco)
And occasionally with the phone to the sky to be closer to God
And this is admitted to the bar
As long as I let someone come behind
To change it:
“It couldn’t be clearer
“It couldn’t be clearer
The end of the world is near.”
It takes a village to keep the truth from being said
But it only takes one dishwater poor blonde
To draw white spiral monkey paw with her fangs
For my whole concept of free will to transform:
“I’m so fallen on hard times
I’ll do anything at any time”
But then she tells me she is learning how to write like Gertrude Stein
Because the way we’re taught to write as children
Screws us up
The subject and predicate destroy our minds
And I think how sad it is
That I am hanging around with people
Who’d think this was insane instead of
Obvious.
