whatever old woman sitting in my brain whatever old bitch bloomers snowy white because she’s still pure and good whatever it is she wants from me what do you want from me I cannot answer the phone I cannot lift my arms I cannot cry I am frozen the Scotch did no good
I wonder if a dog feels this belly slung low what God said to the serpent how it feels to scoot along on one’s belly I do that I’m lucky better scoot and scoot before the body totally freezes up of course the way it’s going might first be the brain which would be best
then I know no difference.
This is why they don’t sell should never sell pistols to bipolars I should like a pearl handled .22 so when this wave crests up and crashes and no I am not suicidal just would like to be unconscious until this passes this damn gloved very rough gloved hand squeezing the yolk from my brain
no, that’s not it. I am already shot full of holes. I am already the defect that blows the car up that stops up the baby’s breath that wrenches the wind free of its sockets I am flying to pieces the glass door my cousin Lynn ran her hands through there was blood that day
just when you think it’s going up the temperature is rising you realize you’re on the tundra again and the tundra is very depressed very sad wishing for more ice all the polar bears do they feel how white translucent pure they are do they feel they’ve always been innocent do they feel that none of this makes any difference because
everything is melting what it means to fly apart what it means to gun it over the cliff surely it would only hurt only be scary only be a moment before it’s over