sometimes I wanna scream
what the fuck
are we doing?
we’re wasting it
We should be balls deeps into Mars by now. Or interwoven in some kinda intergalactic he/she robot orgy of knowing. Nodding wildly surprised by the empowering pleasure of being alive…
but, noooo! It’s fucking Tuesday.
I figure the least I can do is send y’all a love letter or a strange memo. Maybe fire you from your bullshit job. Let you run a little.
My grandma would always let the chickens run after she cut off their heads. “Aww let em run a little,” she’d muse, taking another swig from her flask.
One time one of the headless chickens actually flew. It didn’t get too far, but it was far enough to scare the holy shit out of the ministers wife. She eloped with the church organist not long after. They moved up to the big city. I heard the organist eventually had an operation and became a woman. And the preachers wife, became a man.
It all made sense to me. A kind of dance that spun around a great center. A sort of music that shook through to the bone.