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These times, these dives into pudding and vampire stomachs, these clean-shaven pedicures tying fourth-coronary shoelaces, these vibrating hands from the fifties giving barber massages to twist-off businessmen in a downtown core made of glass houses. I’m not a judge. I kick over things in the dark when I’m drunk and trying to be quiet just like anyone else.
I sometimes feel like a spider on an escalator, concentrating too hard on how to use eight legs to notice that I’m not going anywhere. My steady diet of pearls before swine has left me as bruised as I am brazen. Coffee, cake and the squeak of vinyl leave every promotion feeling like a dismissal.
Tuck in that shirt and let’s have three cheers for unbridled acquisition! Three cheers for this wooden leg and my fear of sharks! Three cheers for Barbie’s unholy satanic eyes! Let’s see how many cobras we can fit into a suitcase. Let’s eat.
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I sometimes feel like a spider on an escalator, concentrating too hard on how to use eight legs to notice that I’m not going anywhere. My steady diet of pearls before swine has left me as bruised as I am brazen. Coffee, cake and the squeak of vinyl leave every promotion feeling like a dismissal.
Tuck in that shirt and let’s have three cheers for unbridled acquisition! Three cheers for this wooden leg and my fear of sharks! Three cheers for Barbie’s unholy satanic eyes! Let’s see how many cobras we can fit into a suitcase. Let’s eat.
tags