literature

With Many Thanks

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Literature Text

it is my hands that do the devils work,
idle, they do it with many thanks.
look how they pose and hold cigaretts.
one after another, burned to the but.
no escape, plain walls hypnotise and bore me;
bullshit from all sides, so here i am.
a day of stress ends in my journal-
nothing happened again...
flies on the counter, spiders in the corner-
they don't stop to think they need each other,
just like husbands and wives.
well, at least they got each other-
domestic violence?  maybe.
what about that fat slob in a cold room on the couch?
mr. happening, senior excitement, he looks dead.
he may as well be.  hmmm. yes, he may as well be.
now i'm paranoid, someone is trying to get in.
get the bat, and the railroad spike-
damn, it must have been the wind...
so what about that wind huh?  it speaks volumes.
more than me in fact.  the air conditioner too,
i hear voices from the air conditioner, yes,
from the creek outside, and leaves tumbling on the ground.
no fucking out, like the cigarette in my hand.
see how it poses, doing the devils work,
with many thanks...
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