to this day, i have no idea

to this day, i have no idea why jeremy was always shirtless.  

a rag damp with gasoline or ether was always tucked into his ever-present roll of duct tape.  

funny how there are no pictures of him in any of our year books.  

though i swear i remember him signing mine, smirking and saying something about 
"thanks for my sister".  

but i don't have a sister anymore, she's long gone, swallowed by the dirt 

in some backlit mexico swarming with tambourines & burros & 3 legged hilarious dogs (well, some of them).

it's obvious now why lewis & clark didn't discover australia.  

but that's from my unpublished thesis, so we'll have to talk about something else -- at least until the girls get back from the bath room....

did you see the dagger magnets on that floozie messiah by the jukebox?  

she's a trouble sandwich, or that's what stupid steve-o said.

thank you for forgetting my birthday last week, since no one noticed, that means i can stay this age again... right?  

(how old am i in this story?  note to self: brush up on meatspace dossier asap)

i see the tornado alarm is going off & john phillip souza is masturbating a zebra with a foghorn's leghorn.

obviously the meds no longer work & neither do i. 

how long can i eat my reflection from the wavy mouth of the pond in the park?

they don't even see me -- i'm some leper raccoon to them in my workshirt boot suit.

ah, but what the hell - right?

the fuckin' barbecue tarp's full of ragged angels & now that i've muted gideon i fear that mother mary's in for a slow ride to babylon shackled to the seat of my pants, where she repents & i never relent.    

she must learn.

i would damn her but it's already done.  

she'll never be human again forevermore.

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