November 8, 2012

This Is What I Write

I don't understand everything

And I don't always try

This is what I write

This is what I bristle against

And I see an old cartoon cowboy and that thing his mustache does that's somewhere between a finger in an electric socket and what I'd imagine auto-tune would do for hair if it was for hair and not voices and being in tune

Saturation and gain

Timing belts

Tire troubles

The light flickers and fades a bit, too

How'd I end up here, while looking around or thumb-typing

Like, where did I park the car?

Like, I was there and now I'm here and I don't recall the between

Like, I swear I've seen this movie when I haven't at all

Like, Thursday

Post-election like like like

Proud tears are the tastiest
I mean the welling when someone is proud of what you've done or you're proud of you

No copper whatsoever, no nickel

They found this predatory sponge

It grows a stomach around everything it catches

It doesn't know run-of-the-mill filter feeding from Adam

Just like dogs could give a shit about their reflection

It spins to the Super Earth

It spins back