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Kingdom of holes

On 51, I decommissioned my calendar, wristwatch, and wooden pencils

On a path that encircled a gut-shot Buick, and waded a rent wetland, and at last dove with some swallows under a small mobile home

My filthy jeans slid down my ridiculous hips, under a wallet’s weight of  faded receipts and expired IDs, and robbed my freedom of its knees

Following as closely as the rattails swishing from the low floor joists allowed, and sliding over plastic sheets of invertebrate mold,

my thin pupils whistling Der greise Kopf, otherwise breathless in the dust and shit


At 27, adjacent to but above the new car alarms and tiny phones, and swishing in all that generous time instead of stepping on its neck

Sleazy amoral fucktard,  sooty with bunker flannel and shallow nihilism,

and despite these carefully hoarded misfortunes meeting my future wife, on the clock,

at $11 an hour, our future hedged on bourbon and statistical inference, and love despite it


As for 5, it is now all bloody unrecoverable

a child may understand art like no other but he will never remember any of it

a poem just behind the teeth, just before sleep, and after only 6 hours it’s already a thousand years lost