This is top notch equipment, this is-
A high tech high functioning hot press distillery
With all the bells and whistles on it-
It’s just a shame that all that money and guilt can’t change the chemistry.
Sometimes I bring up a blank document and pretend to work
Typing the same old four letter combinations over and over again
the clacking of the keys seems to set the whole house to rest-
Even setting a pleasant beat to the car alarm outside.
Half-listening to some self appointed Voice of X on the radio
clucking and quacking and feathers all a-fluff like he’s getting buggered in some bird house.
Handing out the daily ration of thoughts and feelings for the day
To the Decent People. For the sake of Common Sense.
Observing the mould on the ceiling. Fretting about the specific pattern of the spores.
Postulating- what would it feel like? Brillo-pads or soft, downy hair?
Try and sell them bleach- they’ll act like you just threw their baby
Hard against the wall, well that’s just another mess to clean up.
But who are you to talk? Just look at those stains
On the carpet on the curtains that dusty TV set and your screaming fucking pets…