Prichard Standing Alone

begin: 1:03

soppy big wet kisses
on my brain and stenches

so bile, vile.
a hand that reaches reaches
into the gun
and pulls
a bullet
with teeth
dark as
cancer.
pink and satire
satire
for a brilliant little
tattoo swift
across the spine
screaming
mexican women and
terse
liquidators
filing into the
room
twanging instruments and
knocking
over the prize vase.
assured of
insurance instinct
and stickers with
my Valium onboard.
I contracted a revival
of my late wife.
and felt
a greasy hand
snake
into my shirt
to feel
my pulse to check for death
to sit and
weep
for a moment as we all used
to as a family.

my children were balloons with
large
stencils
strapped to their
backs. a rocket
propelled sunday
feast. I rocked
through
the town under the guidance of alfonzo
and freddy. capiche?

gathering dust in the cemetery like all the other dead bodies with no soul to speak of. glittering bilge kits and chia pets without any seeds. they are so plain and brown... children cry and run from the hideous monster scream and cry scraem and cry. 3 year olds weep like the mothers... so lost that the grass didn't grow and the water didn't fall from the tip of the hose. so sad... so sad...

ornery and pesky
brute sons
cleaned old man
lying in wait
old fingers wrap around
young throat...
godless old sodomite...

she struggled but couldn't break free they made her tak e the dose of smoke... those fucking retards... those idiots... those abusive stains on society... let me mop them up with my mind.... let them forget they exist so they don't.

let the child go and burn the afterimage of the stupid people...

ten cents is a pension in my pocket...
checks for child and bru-haha.
so much slight to think of what is right. so much ugliness
to break the solitude.

the sun was bright and
sent a little man
to speak to use
on earth.
let him hear us out
and bring
out pleas for life
and death.
let them mop up their own
lives with their own ash. I cringe
and beat my head
and punch
the walls
so trapped
so awake
but so tired.
so difficult and
so stitched with
guilt.

sampson the old cat broke into the bistro
to borrow a buck for
a beer at bobs bar.

they took on the sky and whiffed the grass
they rubbed noses and gnome like kisses
erupted... married... who are the gods to the little people?
I believe the god must be the same person.

End 1:14