I'm too cheap to
leave any convenience store
without a cigarette burn
sometimes I leave with a torn-out page from
a copy of Alienology's They Have More Than Two
Tits edition: 'The enthusiasm of future aliens to study
underwear stains will wear off faster and faster,
in inverse proportion to the amount of
I talk to myself mostly when
I'm in here, but you, elevator,
you disgust me
my race: the inevitable
constituent of paint thinner;
the STD cartoonishly curtsying,
and the antibiotics making it do so;
'OK, so you ready to talk prices?'
the Zulu real estate agent asks me.
Though I still reel from the deep-brain yo yo-ing
of my building's elevator – and the dirty soliloquizing
I was sure was meant to contain something important - I have
successfully forgone any further discourse with the intelligent
ecosystem beneath my carpet.
'Just remember this hut – it is
only a prototype.'