Monday, December 27, 2010


These days, we drive jokes too far in therapy.
Just a few minutes ago, I was laughing at the sick mind.
We’re pushing construction of the labyrinth into
another parking lot, handicap parking has a special
venn dimension, like wheelchair donuts, only two
clicks removed from deep spirituality. 
I quickly saw that this blizzard forming
was a serotonin aberration, handcuffs between patient
and therapist now forming a matter of intense
debate. A thrashing screech and a yawp.
‘Arrestation with the jelly tot on the table, hmm,’ I write
on my knee. Again forgot my notebook in the car.
Like customer service failing at return of gift horse’s
teeth. Rearing back at horsedrool dribbling
from countertop. ‘Do you enjoy watching your addiction
from over there on the comforter?’ Classic chin scratch
with upward movement of fingers.
‘Never been prouder.’ 
He said some time ago that the Bat Sign is here to stay.
‘At the end of the sky’s baseball bat.’ Did I detect
violent inclinations?
Pointing at the window yelling: ‘Are you telling me I’m
the only one seeing it?’
OK let’s rule out violent inclinations. I think there’s something
deeply moving in the delusion. It might be a striped,
humpback worm. Too many people in this town seem
to think the fire department’s impromptu Christmas eve
vaudeville was as unsettlingly sad as the rest of the world’s
nose-evacuation rituals combined.
Tearduct ignition: gonna make me cry.
Pinecone-obliterating: gluey sterile tears.
The loveliest of dismembering, though... 
Berlin hoping this will all blow away by bowel movement’s end.
Clean restroom an obstruction of world peace.
The Scotch Tape maestro just dropped by to trumpet hello
through his nostrils. SAD.
Blockbuster video: STILL an exotic hit.
Thought we’d celebrate a little tonight.

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