Water down-drain
1st light @ night
on a wild train.

Shit.
I almost forgot to dump the bucket 'gain.
The bucket must be dumped whenever it gets full,
  or it'll spill & feed mold,
    killing us all with its toxic fumes.
But 1 day I will forget.
I try not to, but my mind,
      it slips.
I can't waste time--
  there's only so much;
but like the heathen that is I,
  I let it leave my clutch.
I count the hours squandered.
I count the hours squandered counting the hours.
Shit.
I almost forgot to dump the bucket 'gain.
  Must hurry.
Don't I know my worries will wane
  if I only stop wasting my time in worry?
& here I worry mo' time worrying 'bout my worrying.
I have no one to blame but myself.

I know I should probably ask for help.
No!
I most certainly should not ask for help.
I shouldn't stuff my face with your pie while giving nigh.
No!
I most certainly should stuff my face with your pie.
How uncouth would be such a denial?
We all want to take our vital vials;
  but sometimes prescriptions cause contradictions,
    & the lord that is logic itself stipulates
      that some must be deprived.

So I'll dump that bucket 'gain & 'gain,
  Relishing its empty moments.
Though I see the wall straight 'head,
  I know my smash will be sudden.

Fuck it.

Accompanying music.

April is the coolest month¹,

breeding flies & leaking oil.

¡Plastic stomachs’ filthy fluff!

¡Mattresses with ripped-up coils!

Here the seagulls sing their squawks

through the acid lemon rain

over rusty concrete blocks

with glass shards & worthless change.

Spread your arms, feel all the brine,

bang your heads while ravens cry,

«HURRY UP PLEASE IT IS TIME.»

Footnotes:

• [1] Actually, October is; but that wouldn’t work with this parody. Maybe if I do a «Prufrock Sonnet»…

Me pillaron reyéndome solo otra vez.

Now they’ll take every cake ‘gain.

No más me pasaré bien;

they’ll trade mine for their entertainment.

Oh, cómo echaré de menos los cranjeros

by the coast;

cómo extrañaré los sentimentos

o’ the socks on my toes when I’ve become a ghost

y por último me fallecerá la corazón.

—That is when I’ll learn the hurt from laughing ‘lone —dijó esos.

They caught me laughing ‘lone ‘gain.

Ahora sacarán todas las tartas otra vez.

Things won’t be swell for me anymo’;

intercambiarán su divertido por esos de mio.

O, how I’ll miss the crabs

cerca de la costa;

how I’ll so miss those feelings

de los calcetines en mis pies cuando me ponga una fantasma

& finally my heart fails.

—Eso es la hora que aprenderé el duele de reírme solo—said those.

Tea bag
refuses ice water—
not blasting up the ass now.

Me olvidé de guardar los platos.
Ahora están infestado de cucarachas para siempre.
Bien hecho.

I forgot to put the plate 'way.
Now it's covered w/ roaches forever.
Good job.

Tea chokes me
laughing
‘bout the aforementioned blasting-up-the-ass.
Now there’s blood in my nose.

Tea bag bounces
dipping in water…
Isn’t it just having a blast up the ass.

Accompanying music.

Rainbows spread its fingers through

granite gray & silver liquid

crystal screens that always plume

in the rain that makes it fidget.

Should I splash my feet in you?

Does it feel like smacks or pets?

Looks as if you always snooze,

slowly swaying white light flecks.

Puddles never make me frown,

always soothe me with their sounds—

in their love I want to drown.

Morning spring
leaves fall on pumpkins–
all black text.