.

I am dispatching to you today from the celestial, eternal glacier of foolishness, whereupon I will forever keep changing my direction, my motives, my disposition, color and shape, and will marvel, always, about how somebody managed to get those creatures so obsessed with sex. They swam around in a circular motion within a closed course of struggle, conflict, harshness and vituperation, constantly putting on airs, constantly infusing false meaning into the unimportant, and all the while, taking off ever more clothing, as a tautological guidance into a base-two existence, an animalistic quagmire. Obsessed with the idea of an unstoppable force moving an inanimate object, they made an orchestration against progress, blinded themselves to truth and deliberately worshipped an act that was frustrating, even in itself, for its intrinsic functional interface of giving, of tiring, of sacrifice and overwhelming sensation. In their eyes was a stupefying stagnancy, passing in and out of tabernacles and fortresses alike, like a still, sordid waste matter the essence of which it was their objective to give away, rather than to harness and perfect. And now I sit watching this watery ball hurling through space, as they might put it, and they are so small they could fit under my fingernails or refuse the soul of another being as a rudimentary defense of their own existences.

There was this girl today in Whole Foods

Issuing an ear-piercing, vitriolic

Peal of screaming for

About seven minutes or so.

.

The dad was standing there

Not really doing much of anything,

Just attempting to reprimand the girl,

Basically.

.

It just made it worse.

.

I heard something she uttered

During the din

And it was

“They’re going to kill me.”

.

All day,

Grown men

Had been ambulating around me

With gaits which I thought indicated

Homicidal essences, like

Grasping for the satisfaction

Of the finality

Of killing,

The transcendence

.

Rampant

In sending somebody

Into the transformation

Of

.

Entrance into the next life.

.

The incident with the girl

Seems to be isolated

For now

But I’d been seeing the same thing

All day

On May 23rd of 2024.

She took the low road

Full of sand and mud

And now her face is but a mask.

.

The camera never really flashes to her

And when it does

It’s like it still didn’t flash to her.

.

She is a walking indication

Of what it’s like to give up,

To set the exclamation point

Malevolently,

In upon the self,

.

To tell the world she’s worthless,

To tell herself she’s worthless,

And

.

She is an entity wholly unapproachable,

Like the end of life,

Like the end of an oblong,

Sun-scorched ordeal.

Birth plus ennui

Equals classical music.

.

Globalization

Plus economic depletion

Equals jazz.

.

Globalization plus

Economic depletion

Plus defunding of public schools’

Music programs in New York

Equals hip-hop.

.

Slavery

Equals

Gospel.

.

Slavery

Plus globalization

Equals rock and roll.

.

Globalization

Plus something

Equals country…

.

I’m not sure what or where it is

But I’m pretty sure I can smell it.

I saw this post

I like on Facebook

But I’m not sure if I should like the page.

.

They might think I’m creepy.

.

And they might be the benefactor of my will.

.

And they might be

The party that decides

Whether or not my life insurance plan

Kicks in

After I die.

And they might be the person who

Turns on the sun,

Maddens the headlights,

Butters the yams and

Flaps the jacks,

Pinches the pennies and

Causes any number

Of nuisances

To fall like

Neutron bombs and

Encumbered patrons

Of the know-how blow-now.

Over the glaze of

An abyss of country plain

I glide, the look

In the eye

Of the bald eagle

Napalmed

Into my disposition

As he seems to say,

“Don’t think about me.”

Was it the boarded-up Hollywood Video,

The pi**-stained train car,

The string of six-degree days

Or the giant,

Phallic downtown skyscraper

Poking the sky…

.

We reach

Far

.

Into the

Night

.

And

We reach

Far into ourselves

To kill ourselves

To drone ourselves of

The crushing din of

Everyday life as

.

I cradle the malady

At arm’s length

Singing a funeral dirge and

Smiling in my pink, metal distance.

Driving back through Indiana

At the end of February, 2024

I notice a vast, exhaustive expanse

Of aridness, an eerie,

Brown cloak of desolation

Befallen our planet on

Which we

.

Have taken to monitoring

Everything with video

Surveillance, have

Advertised marijuana

In states where it is illegal and have

Sped to the end of the

Movie

.

To see

The naked body,

Now dead, with

He** not a crashing,

Thunderous storm but an

.

Eternity of a withered abyss

Tailoring staring at oneself and

Confusing oneself with something.

We all got the programs

When we were in our seats,

Glossed them,

The faceless corporate nothingness,

The ladies who don’t mean anything

With fake tans and the

Spatial abyss between

Noblesville and the city and

It was another underdog night

When I set out darker than black

For a cheap good time

And found you writhing

Like a new breed of dog,

When I was intimidated to make eye contact

With the high schooler working the seafood counter at Kroger

With an unbuttoned jacket exposing a Misfits shirt,

When I knew to be nice to the autistic grocery bagger

Because I just knew the world needed more of that

And I knew it was my purpose

And I laughed at finding my purpose in Carmel

And I swear I saw my dry spell obliterated in Muldoon’s

Until I looked at the lady’s epidermal ease

Like a little girl, seeing

What they need from us

In this suburban town where

I knew what I was trying to do

But didn’t know what I’d find.