Where I Hang My Laundry
This is point four of pointless melodrama
nearly as nameless and headless as anyone
disassembled on a railroad track The
rest
of
us
seething in stability White knuckled children of
simple folk
who sometimes scrub the
baby's penis
a little too zealously
Then again the only measurement of pain
is more pain
And now lit up from firecrackers in the ass
a mouthload of gossip and two new nostrils encrusted
with
semen
that same black ribbon around your wrists
it used to make sense
sense like shaving your body bald
tucking your manhood between your thighs
sense like a fat head impaled
on a fence post
You know in most countries
they would have put a bullet in your brain
by now That's enough reason for another drink
as any I guess Too bad being an asshole is a
wholly volunteer position you could be a
rich man
Yes and I hear the hours suck too