Wednesday, May 20, 2015

Journal 72 - Pillows and Philosophers

This was the last one of these I wrote for 3 years.

Ants carry their lives on their shoulders aligned and
disciplined like a military outfit of a middle eastern
country, surviving on their obsequious cooperation -
no time for ridicule when the next batch of eggs is
sagging in the queen's ass. I carry nothing but shirts
on my sagging shoulders - separate from the voices of
america I sing the song of the doubting self-doubter
I sing the body corpulent and deteriorated. I co-
habitate with the mice and the roaches watching The
Wire on my two-color TV. Feathers accumulate in
my bedroom from the pillow taking a mild beating
after trying to drown myself in Nietzsche, Wittgenstein
and Rilke - taking a drowning bath I punch the poor
pillow in defeat. The next bottle will comfort my
orgasmicless soul; the next bottle will float my body
electric on the river of Lethe in the valley of Megiddo.


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