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Number Six

 

He tried to stop, but...
people--all over...it never stops.
the scribbled notes keep piling up
on the bedroom floor...

"It's o.k. here...
but it's not pretty here," she said.
"Tell me about it," he said.

The tv was on
showing some conflict going on
somewhere, people running, shooting
at each other,
dragging bodies around.
Joe the barber got up
and stood near the tv, a drink
in one hand
and a cigarette in the other,
his face was an Italian snarl.
"Humanity," he hissed,
"They oughta drop a coupla dese
bombs and kill off all da fuckin
humans!!"

"So, your dad tells me
you have a strong back
and a weak mind," he said.
"I think it's the other way
around," Tom said.
Tom turned
and walked out of the room...
Thanksgiving
was always a waste of time.

John's girl went
to the bathroom.
John remained on the barstool
with his drink...
a woman approached him,
someone he knew,
"You're a creep," she said.
He looked at her,
she walked away.
He couldn't say anything.
He saw nothing illogical
or untrue in that statement.

Joe was on a roll,
he stood in front of the tv
waving toward it with one hand,
cigarette in the other
a violent mob
somewhere in the world
flickered on the tube.
He ranted
to no one in particular,
"Look at dese fuckin humans--you
think there's a fuckin god
who would make sumthin like
fuckin humans?!!"
I loved it
when he spoke rhetorically.

"She won't stay with you," she said.
"Why not?
I'm great--why wouldn't she want to
stay with me?"
"She does this; she's never happy"
"Oh..."
Aweek later
John's girl dumped him.

She talked and talked
eyes closed, sleepy
slipping away, still talking
the words came out as through
a doll, a marionette...
from elsewhere.
He was floating too, and
dropped on the ground
when the talking started.

It made you want to quit.
All the books there would never
be time to read,
the records you'd
never get to hear...
the piles of shit you had to walk past
and with people--you had to
wade through one hundred till you found one
you could talk to...
it wore you down.

Across the street,
a retard is playing around
in the guts
of two former people,
struck with a rather large
piece of shrapnel.
It looks like the apocalypse
is going to be
more entertaining
than I had thought.

 

luv,
Will

 

 

 

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