Six months I finalize feeling sure the artist within will wither once reduced to marriage, suburban boxes, the upperclass hypocrisy rampant in her family and friends. Reception held of course at the country club. None of my freak friends came. The day of the wedding I put all the trash left from moving in the middle of the floor smoked the last of my grass took off all my clothes and slowly danced naked about the trash sprinkling it with my box of monosodium glutamate and chanting unknown chants of sorrow. In tired, fat insolence.
Old papers flap down empty streets.
It is an ugly season. Day slouches in, in shameless anonymity Devoid of great chained excuses of being A voided has been of god, notion and country. Unfocused without, we hunt worms within To bait further cold excretion of reason, rationale. Refuse refusing our naked nothing. Strip steal by night.