Burger King-a-Lingus

Burger King-a-Lingus

 

The FBomb’s this week again

What should I probably write about?

What do I feel like reading?

 

I don’t know

 

I broke my ribs again, and

Trump’s still president and

everything feels like a fucking mess

 

but I don’t feel like writing about what it feels like

waking up each day with a passed out metronome

and the same dirty blanket

 

in occupied territory

overthrown like naïve bathtubs

overlord-ed and now controlled by: The Messy

 

I don’t want to write about those feelings, again

I don’t want to think about politics and randomness

as it pertains to fib-based realities

and these various collections of atoms

 

Welcome to the 45th President’s Super Great Grift-Grabbed Marina!

Are you a chum bucket or shark bait?

Please line up accordingly

 

Fuck that!

 

I don’t want to think about 70 year old billionaires

who’re trying to ruin everything

and own their own golf carts

 

For at least one goddamn night, anyway

I don’t want to think about Trump

because I’m tired of thinking about Trump

 

So I’m not going to think about Trump

Not for the rest of tonight, anyway

So what’s left?

 

I bought a metronome last week

That was a good day….

I’ve been watching the movie Seven again

every night, and have recently decided to relearn

a bunch of Beethoven stuff arranged for classical guitar

 

and shit, once you decide multiple things like that

everything else becomes obvious

and you immediately realize

if you’re going to get through this:

 

You’re gonna need a metronome

 

Stuff like every hateful thing President 2018’s ever internet-composed

with his gassy thumbs and The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame

may be fake news, but everything I’m ever going to say

about the mythological greatness of metronomes

is fucking true

 

After watching Seven 6 nights in a row,

missing things, and somewhat obsessively

thinking about Beethoven

 

I found myself

filled with an over-consumable urge

to co-exist with a metronome

 

So I got one

We met, and it immediately moved in with me

and it’s great

 

I’ve named it Morgan, and

we watch movies together

 

and listen to Beethoven

and write poems about Paris

with the window almost open

 

You have no idea how much calmer I am now

that I have this metronome,

and xanex (the xanex helps too)

 

I’m so much calmer now

that I’m writing a fan fiction sequel to Seven

starring a fresh out of the mental hospital Brad Pitt

 

in which Morgan Freeman’s dead, allegedly,

so Brad Pitt teams up with Morgan Freeman’s

metronome and they’re called in to solve the worst

 

most bigly serial killer murder spree of all time!

2018 Trump world based murder scenarios

instead of the original’s 7 deadly sins this time

 

The sequel’s called Eight, and

the serial killer’s serial killing code name is

Burger King-A-Lingus (because McDonaldst-Rump

seems too: obvious, and)

 

Shit,

 

I’m not supposed to be thinking

about Trump tonight

so on a completely unrelated topic:

 

When I think about you

the bumper car in my pants

turns into a ferris wheel

 

on which my feelings go for a ride

and from up here I can see everything

everyone’s ever wanted

 

and I can also see Paris

and from this angle

Paris looks like your vagina

 

so now the metronome’s

all wound up again and

our star’s dead light starts playing

 

‘What’s in the box’

with the quantum gravity

of things like love

and past sexual positions

 

and now fuck, I’ll never

get to sleep tonight

but that’s ok

 

At least

I’m not thinking

about Trump

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