Misanthrope

The phone rang with some wispy drunken incoherent voice on the other side.  The chicken is ready sir, explained this now somewhat familiar voice.  Alright I said, be sure that its been out in the sun for an extra hour before processing and as always, extra skin goddammit!. Well that was how my uneventful Saturday morning started, nothing with nothing to be informed about.  But at least its in good hands, or as the religious extremists say in gods hands.  Misanthropic coat hangers twisted on alert no doubt bout that.   She met an untimely death down by the train tracks.  Always cracking on me at the wrong time and wrong end.  Don`t misinterpret me I was forbidden by high command to not get along with you.  I always loose the silk coated wrapping that mother sent my ties with.  Smelt of my childhood and better times, or at least innocence.  Now we understand too much and are so very much aware, so we spend late nights drinking to forget some things.  Its intoxicating enough this remembrance of self, these words.    I don`t follow directions directly just generally, that is how I live, generally.  Plopped among the many shelves of this mad scientists lab.  But there are no mirrors here or regrets.  Just the past fading in like a hurricane, only last moments to think upon.  I will not be here when you figure out yourself, cause I figured you needed  more than a my life`s worth. I am driving up a mountain road just for the view of myself below, crippled and blew. I stutter, I shy away from conflict with the living, but bring on your dead.  My reflection is most apparent in blank expressions.  Sigh and hum, if poetry was something amazing I`d dress the fuck up or at least put a light on.  Only warts on a putrid infected anus, talking too much shit like most a muse.  God was never alive to die.  Poetry? perhaps keep your faith in god.  But stand and gasp, be amazed.

Dru