BAD DAY
Best Day, he said with a grimace. Best Day of all... pushing up his glasses, the court room was hushed by his exhalation of light pyramid smoke. Down the lenses went, sunglasses. Something changed in him when he talked about the girls. Well First it really wasn’t all that simple… (the curtains are swaying on a central cooling unit Georgia morning and the fat greasy-assed cops are melting in khaki like honey baked hams, gurgling mesh salts in the back seats of cruisers. Praying with their revolvers held to the leather interiors of their heads. 'Somebody’s gonna die in the swamp tonight…' and he’d been with his father back in the early 2000s to see the destitute inner city where the monument to the dead gangbangers had been erected, deep in the marshes, cavitied with remains. Moss and acid rain had all gnarled it up and all his father could say between his fingers over his mouth was shit shit shit mourning something as the camera pans over the scene: the broken bicycles the crackheads with their cardboard bottles there is a playground in the distance where malnutritioned children fumble in a maze of chain link fencing) How could I not want to take lives out of this world how could I want not to remove the pain of that to leave a virgin offering at the foot of the obelisk for the gangbangers in overcoats for the obese groupie gang member girlfriends for the babies the sons the daughters on every breast one wearing a ski mask the other juggling skulls?
__________
blank white lives in florida. he regrets the word "semidetached" and slams head into window. glass wall: nyquilchug.blogspot.com