Saturday, April 24, 2010

Liquor Store for A Narcissist

Recreational? Yes. Philosophy? No. Philosophy rape?
Philosophy rape in a study that reeks of gift shops?
Hell yes.

But not when driving a rat coffin limo for people wrapped
in green leather dengue fever – this sort of wallpaper
pulls down its trousers in small dingy bathrooms
and, in front of the misty mirror, engages in ugly
proton smashing. I don’t decorate my bondage-themed
nightclub this way: hobos and blossoms
claim bumper stickers are prophetic
and God is killed with air travel – that slice of movement
in which space invaders find this sort of thing tacky.

Who do I want to impress with my liquor store? With a foot
made of high-school history? At what point did I give the
go-ahead to office supplies to invade my booze rockets?
Ever got drunk on a ballpoint pen? You read that
funny banner hanging above the cashier’s head?
‘KILL AND BE IGNORED.’
That’s how I feel.

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