hi
cellar dwellar,
how
goes it in there? cozy, warm and dark huh?
is
it too early to brighten the coroners, or are you still the dimmest bulb
available? we work with what we are
handed, gotcha, this shouldn't take long: thermometer, needles, civility,
invisibility, doctors' rounds, your love light shining down on bedpan/me.
it's
my turn now.
do
i turn the torch on you,
or
on what would, in a perfect world,
outrank
you as biggest and scariest con game in my life:
the
diagnostic and statistical manual of psychiatric disorders? there it is, power corruption
and lies, littering the empty landscape with all its venal entrepeur-urinal
rugrats, littering the internet and cemetaries, souls, minds, un-lived lives...
labels,
yo, labels;
clownish
pop-up targets whose passive victims are long
out of pea-shooters, which unlike you can be easily remedied. this is not a bad thing. meanwhile, how blue
can you get? the answer is right here in my hands. you, putty, the dsm.
we'll
come back to this.
guess
'til then best way of uncallin you out is to not drop by your place of
employment all clingy, bibble-babble, mere rubble, mere slip of the girl i was
last time we stared blankly at each other, my newly truly haggard face hidden
beneath big black straw hat, cry cry cry speak in proverbs then, as i recall, you treat me like
shit, realizing only post-gossip that i am the one
(at
least) you wrote 4 marriage proposals-on-chocolate-bar-wrappers-to, upon
reading one of the worst possible
poems
ever published in the austin comical so gosh,
now,
so what do we do now? good thing i'm not so childish as to start naming names,
huh?
are
you unconscionable?
please,
i can use that, ha ha
laugh
laugh laugh join hands like a true
get
over it.
i
even forgive you for bein yella chicken closet crazies,
here's
why:
oblique
references, song lyrics, clues, obscurantism, alla sudden
i
have your attention, or fear, or something bordering on awe, wow cool, now
whose idea was that, yours or mine?
torch
it.
see,
one of the benefits of being insane: no rigid, middle class,
reality/illusion
hang-ups
to inhibit allure of risk-taking with people who don't matter shit to you one
way or another.
love,
trouble
Copyright 2002
Robin Plan and troublewaits.com. All
rights reserved.