not my finest moment, or my rarest moment either.
the bad guy, sad guy, say goodbye to mr. polite.
tonight i should be punished with back aches and anxiety.
early morning decisions to make a healthier dieting choice. Crackers, juice, salad. Organics are definitely your friend.
sticky strawberry spongy angel cake,
pick apart the hard boiled egg.
out of touch, i run in place.
i still feel somewhat indifferent about eating part of Darla in my ceasar salad. Poor little anchovies with your weird fucking faces. i imagine you swimming away from my plastic-ware in the cold, cold, lettuce pond.
bad choices are on sale.
snacking on american blend,
the murky lurking jerk
whom you can often find excused from the table.
slow motion, no promotion, low commotion
winged mammal chained to the bottom of the ocean.
(just add water.)
Noodles are being heated via tiny microwaves (redundant). Crackers taste good, fresh, noodles are done..
it’s none of my business and the house has no say.
i belong to the same fluorescent-lit buildings as always.
i lost the tip of my thumbnail to a bowling ball somewhere.
coming to find i don’t travel enough timezones or state lines.
ginger soy was the taste. Veggies would’ve been nice; onions, bell peppers, and carrots. my tongue feels like it’s wrapped in a heated blanket.
we need health food stores.
soft, strange, and distant.
bound to the pink lampshade lit
behind the white curtains of second story windows.
left long distance at sundown to undress in the closet.
I feel a lack of creativity dwelling in the right brain. Maybe i should go back to cheesy fries and grease burgers..
off track with the soft pack.
all black laundry done.
high maintenance, the greatest hits.
written by the both of us, back and forth between stanzas. originally by electric typewriter.