3 Years Without Nickel

 

3 Years Without Nickel

 

Nickel,

 

It’s February again, which means

You’ve been dead for 3 years now

and it’s time for me to sit down at the machine

To remind what’s-been-left-in-your-absence

That you were here,until the clock guts of existence

 

Had their way with you (rest assured Bubby, I’ve waged war

Against the clock guts of existence) (unrest assured,

There’s no winning against clock guts, damnit

They continue to tick everything eventually into the ground),

And that you were loved

 

Which is the only thing we really have to cling to, on this

Coin operated/mechanical bull shaped world

Where half a dozen sleazy carnival barkers with Vince Vaughn laughs

Hold all the quarters and the ground bucks furiously

until we’re only an indeterminable number of power ballads away

From being tossed mortal-y into the jagged arms of that old juke box

At the end of the bar, the follow up album to that being

Our own person oblivions, and when we’re oblivious

What did we have that was worth hoping for?

I don’t know, but I’m trying to be optimistic here:

 

That we’re loved

Why not? And Nickel

You’re loved

 

I sent the magnetic future predicting ball in motion

A few minutes ago (which is similar in function to the

Future telling napkin holder in that Twilight Zone episode

Where William Shatner becomes the world’s youngest

Office manager and celebrates with his new wife and a couple

Of lettuce and tomato sandwiches. The modern day Mystic Seer

Is now shaped like a magnetized floorboard outfitted

With vague responses, dutifully hovered over by a little metal ball

Attached to a shaky metal string) and I asked

This superstitious desk mate if you were better off now

Where you are and the goddamn thing said ‘Definitely’

 

But what does it know, really?

For almost an entire month whenever I’d ask it anything

The metal ball would always wind up stuttering

Like a Joe Biden speech about stuttering before hovering to rest

Over its favorite two word cop out-slash-Rocky 2-movie poster tagline:

‘Try Again’

 

Nickel,

 

Where you are right now

Is buried in a backyard that no longer belongs to me

Because I’ve moved in the 3 years since you’ve been dead

 

You never got the chance to see my new place

Which is a shame, really, because we could’ve been happy here

If only you were still alive and the invisible oligarch that owns the building

Didn’t have a biggest-crowd-size type obsession about not allowing cats

 

Nickel,

 

What else have you missed while I’ve been missing you?

3 bullet points that come to mind, in no particular order:

  • (ah-1) Evangelical Christians have irreparably sold all stock

In their god and thrown in with a truth crushing Weeble

With vagina assaulting fingertips and democracy crushing

flare

  • (ah-2-who) I’m still hung up on Helen, (equally ridiculous, admitably)
  • (and-ah-3) Baby Yoda

 

Since you’ve been dead Star Wars has repeatedly broken

My heart but Baby Yoda might save the world

 

Oh yeah Nickel,

 

One more thing, the other night it occurred to me/wide awake

Like a Philip K Dick dream

My spirit animal is Mr. Owl

The public face of Tootsie Pops

 

And Helen’s spirit animal

Was a stick of gum

 

She chewed the shit out of that thing

 

My spirit animal exists in the tradition

Of Camus’ Sisyphus, whos bolder is to

Eternally ponder the big question

The only real question:

 

How many licks does it take?

 

How many licks does it take, Helen?

To get to the center of things

How many licks can we take

Before our insides are breached

 

I can still remember the days

When Helen’s eyes were like coathangers

And my dick was a big long jacket

 

That was the best closet in the world

I could’ve stayed in there forever

 

But forever only exists in sad songs

And oblivion, so

 

Regarding Mr. Owl again:

 

Once that center’s been breached

We’re done for, so remember

To lick accordingly

 

And why the fuck’s an owl wearing a graduation cap and round glasses?

His tongue pre-dates Miley Cyrus

What flavor is that?

Banana, or yellow pickle?

 

It’s like John Lennon fucked a snow owl

While listening to Miley Cyrus

While everything else in the world

Was having its period

 

Nickel,

 

It’s all sort of like that

With the Tootsie Roll center

Shooting towards an Oscar in its career changing roll as

The End

 

So tonight I’ll skip cinema

And watch another episode of

Murder, She Wrote instead

 

 

 

Speed Star 1.1471378 00

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