Happily Rabid

Happily Rabid

Alexander Ziperovich

*

There’s a sign on my forehead, enter bullet, preferably a .357 caliber. There’s a signature needed for all of you people, I’m passing around the bulletin board and your needles are just getting sharper and sharper.

*

There are clouds above the sun, yet the sun is burning through; I’ve been told once, twice, three, and four times what not to do.

*

There is somewhere for me to go, a vacant lot. I’ve been told truth and I have been told lies. I lie somewhere in the middle, smoking something hot.

*

Guns, diamonds, cocaine, and God. Capitalize things when thing’s are hard.

*

Fuck life. Fuck death. Permanent purgatory for a man with absolution solution’s left.

*

Killing’s and I just want to be at peace. Someone offered me an olive branch and I spit at their feet. They offered me syringes filled with cut dope, I offered my bulletin board before I realized it was all tore up and broke.

*

Coke. I turned away.

*

Specialty pharmaceuticals, do the tango down to the bay and sit on the dock and watch all the ghosts sway like the waves from a cave.

*

Hunger. Grave starvation, bullet’s in my bulletin board for me to suffer today.

*

Today, today, today and tomorrow I’ve borrowed and followed and eaten things that tasted like maggots dipped in the sorrow of someone else’s grief.

*

This place is eating me.

Consumption is my function & I grow tall like a hunchback jumping.

Now, to the luncheon.

What gumption!

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