We are sitting in a corner table falling out. Someone orders food. You choke on a mouthful of saliva. WE ARE THE DESOLATE FREEDOM FIGHTERS. Our nostrils, eyes, and mouths crust over. It would take a hammer to make us feel whole again.
1 part of a thousandth
3 parts of a whole
Quickly now, my heart is constricting. My body is acting as a vacuum for all this shit on my mind.
Ketchup dries and coagulates on Formica. I stab it with a fork, and out pops some thick, nasty, almost-solid-liquid. A fluid.
We count the cracks on the wall and realize they all run together. It's one giant hole. I light a cigarette and tobacco falls into my water. Oh well, I wasn't planning on drinking that anyway.
YOU FUEL THE INFERNAL FIRE. internal fire.
That old sack of skin turned around to tell you that hearts run on gasoline. You told him he was wrong. Our bodies shaking, like fists unchanging.
WE HAVE BECOME A SINGLE CELLED ORGANISM. The coffees cold and tastes like eggshells. Fuck a tip, I'll leave them our energy.
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2 comments:
I see that you do pound in the dirt and the grime. I don't; you know that though; I leave it lie lay lye.
you DID spend the whole summer reading bukowski!
cheers to that "old sack of skin".
and you too.
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