Don’t rush things. The world is natural. Your body has a nature. It is separate from your consciousness. There are different parts of the brain. Go to sleep when sleep is what you’re craving. When you can’t hold back any longer. When you prefer sleeping rather than staying awake. Let it overtake you.

Unless of course you’re on the road, in the driver’s seat, like I was for five days. Eight hours. No shift changes. The smallest of breaks. At the gas station. Refilling. Depositing. Then back to seventy sometimes, rarely eighty miles an hour. Across America. The motor home. Station wagon with a dog on the wife’s lap. No room in the back. It’s stuffed.

There’s a television hanging from the seat. It’s wrapped in a down comforter and spewing feathers from its pores. The signal runs right through, onto the windshield. The blood of McBeth streaming down.

You’ve got to eat what you can. When you’re on the road, you get a pass on fast food. Don’t worry about it. You never know when you might win. A free frappe. A couple of fries. Ain’t no thing but a chicken wing. Nuggets instead of strips. Never heard of them, says the bow tie man with tattoos and a wide smile. Just happy to be here. A certain kind of energy. Admiration. Hunting. Targeting. All these predators we’ve got traipsing through. Taking your life and then your stuff. Tablets out Mom’s cabin. Walking right in through the open garage. We’ve gotta get out. We’ve got to get into the Registrar. Hopefully we can make a home of it, me being an artist and all. I can show you my portfolio. I’ve placed it under lock and key. Give me your WordPress, and I’ll let you in. Just let me know you’re knocking. There are a lot of ways for you to reach me, and a lot of ways that I’m willing to reach you. Just let me know what works best. Where are you most? I’ll tune a frequency your way. Ain’t no thing but a little chicken wing, and didn’t I say nuggets stead of strips. Such a massive difference. The power of art. Turns the same piece into a few more dollars. Gives it a shot in this world. Doing whatever we can really. Just trying our best. Our hardest. To bring it to you in the bed even though we’ve got a baby in our arms and we see all of the trouble that it’s causing its parents, and all the joy that it is bringing ours. There’s just something about babies. They’re so natural. The life coming in taking the elderly out. It’s natural. Go with the flow. Thinking you can live forever. What’s the point? If it happens, then it happens. If it doesn’t, then I guess we’re going to have to face death head on, just like everyone else ever has always done it. I can handle it. I’m a big boy only getting bigger. Shoving down the steak strips and pork chops that my mom keeps feeding me. Straight out of the crockpot. Coupled with a cobbler. That’s baby making food right there. Makes you feel warm, comfortable, safe and secure. Almost unthinkable someone come walking through the garage with a shotgun pressed up against the back of one of our skulls. But which one?  

The littlest? The biggest and strongest? The sweetest? The prettiest? The new mom? The prodigal son? The Son in Law?

A landscape of horrors. Spewing seed before any more bullets. The dad’s gone. If the sun speaks feed him his ears. That’s what you get for projecting all your wealth into this world. There’s such a huge disparity. Lest you forget life is not heaven. We haven’t made it. Who knows which way to go? Look for the cloud pots. Follow them to your treasure. X marks the spot. A doped up dude fumbling through his father’s fortunes. What are you going to do about it? Are you going to open the fridge and pull us out a piece of meat? Have you ever considered? When was the last time you hit the range? When was the last time you shot a living thing? Heard its last breath? Finished something off?

I’m not a killer. Nothing much bigger than a cockroach. Never done away with a cat or a dog. Almost lost one to a bikini top, but that wasn’t my doing. You can blame The Lord for that one. And the kitten crunched beneath the recliner. Another lost angel. Death is all around us. This house can only do so much. The car a little bullet circling my heart. Driving from my parents home to Salt Lake, returning home, and back again, to Salt Lake, to drop off a check at the Registrar’s office.

We want the place, and here is our promise.

We’re losing it, says Musette. You’ve got to talk to that accountant.

Naked and Afraid.

Our mattress leaning up against against the wall illegally. The couch at my brother in law’s. A wedding gift that we couldn’t sell. Not a big market for couches in New York. Especially not ones as large as ours. Especially when you can find so many for free on the sidewalk. But that’s New York for you. Everybody’s got trash cans here, and truck beds for delivery to the dump.

Nobody searches the dump because it’s disgusting. There are large families here. The couch we’ve got in my parent’s living room is so comfy. It’s something that you can take pride of in in your family, reminding your kids what’s good. Helps them back upon the straight and narrow. Birthng legendary seats. The company name engraved into a plaque.

I’ll get my own, I say. For my own accomplishments.

I have to remind you that we are equals in this world. I have to show you that my side as well can win in this the way that I am used to using it. My grand work. Etched into my tombstone, having it to be said that I was one who fought the villain. Here a life was lived, now ashes. A mixture of Musette and me. Good for various meals. Spicing up your life. Just like two lovers should.   

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s