The dawn belched that morning though it may have
been the frogs or my wife. I didn't bother rolling
over to feel the cold side of the bed; my...
The dawn felt like brown sandals in Zaire
on July 4th – firecrackers flailing and cracking
around in mock celebration of a has-been
liberating country. Now soiled we wallow in the
sty of liquidation and timely bailouts with
Monopoly money. After dinner I walked
outside and belched as loud as I could at both
Presidents, at all Presidents. The office has
slowly deteriorated since breathed in by that
slave owning Jefferson. Where will Barack take
us? Is he a political belief? I sigh at the
breathless tycoons who manage our money from
their penthouses and corporate jets. I wish
I had a corporate jet; is that why I berate
them and disown them? Envy? I chipped my
tooth while eating ice-cream from a cheap
marble slab; drunk I sued the owner for
willful intent of personal harm as he never
tried to improve himself. I've found I
think in a piss poor way after many sips
of broad red wine -> or thin. A vanilla
flavored cigar only accentuates the happy
laden influence. Happiness is a fleeting
apparition of some laughing half-cocked
loony convinced there is something better
waiting on the other side of dreamless death.
Loonies aren't so bad this time of year.
Happiness is floating on the suds of dirty shit
flowing happily down the street or into the
tunnels that feed the beautiful harbor of our
holy city. I've felt the ending and fleeting
gestation of happiness. My neat drink washed
it away like the wasted toilet paper it is.
But there is the voice that sings the song in
the sparsely seated church on Sunday evening.