the grind

See the thing is,
Tom had this trombone
And boy did he take that
thing everywhere
He enjoyed playing songs
for the people that came by
But for some reason they
didn't like it all that much
Probably because Tom
refused to play a single note
while wearing pants.

Another thing you need to
know about Tom is,
see Tom is allergic to metal
So he doesn't technically
"play"
the trombone
He just stands there with
no pants on holding the
trombone like in the subway
Or at the corner of
7th and Chambers.

But DON'T WORRY! he holds it
with his mom's right
gardening glove which
he stole
It makes him mad because
it's pink and has flowers on it
Not good for a trombonist
TRUST ME.

Also, Tom is allergic
to children
So naturally the only way
he can play his trombone for
people is to make sure to
scare away all children
So he has this rottweiler
He got arrested like
twenty-seven times or
something!
He just wants to share his
trombone music but
NO!
People are so mean to Tom
what the hell.

Actually I lied
Tom doesn't even have a trombone
I don't even know anyone
named Tom
I wanted to ask you for like
a HUGE favor dude..
But I forgot what it is.
I have it written down
At home somewhere.

OH YEAH!!
Do you have any pants
I can borrow?

Jim told me hey go grab some firewood
I asked him then I said hey
Jim?
He said dude what the HELL just go
get the FIREWOOD.

I was like jesus christ calm down Jim
And you know what?
He was pretty tall.

Oh, I forgot something else
to say about Jim too
you're not gonna believe it though
but one time Jim said
"You know what Roger?"
(my name is not Roger but he forgets that)
"Roger I don't know what
happened to my wife.."

I was like Dad, she's over
there on the couch watching
reruns of Lost.

and he was like
"JESUS CHRIST ROBERT GO GET THE FIREWOOD WHAT THE HELL!!!!"

he's not really very nice about the firewood.
but I like him in any case.

what are you
christ, what am i
your favorite room, dumb
with fantomes and bad art
the disappointing brevity
of all my shit
hung by the paper
hands of that mid-century
landscape artist i tried to fuck
a tribute to the famous shame
of the fag
but you like it for its smell, or
the sun that gathers there
i hate and hate in that room
and should be entertained by my own irony
still, beneath my hanging human failure is
triumph at the foot of "heart"
spade at human convenience
i eat myself with fuck and spoon
and you lie in the sun
for you are simpler than i
you are a dog
i am the landscape of my shit.

i like to to think in my heart
that when you passed on to the
shadow
your body shattered out
into about a million pieces
or more
kinda spilled out along
the universe like
milk poured over a black tabletop
your whole body like that
flying out every direction
touching everything on it's way
to wherever it's gonna end up
i like to think that
makes me start to feel ok.

and come to think of it,
maybe the universe did brighten up
upon your receipt
i don't have
the right kind of eyes
to say either way
but then i can't shake
the sensation
that my whole damn world
got a little darker that
you're gone.

i don't understand it
the feelings just totally cut off
really just cut off
i think it all happened
here
the day i found you
lying face down
by the toilet
it appeared as though you'd been
mistreated
before you died
you were lying
unnaturally
i stared at you for a good long time
because you did not appear to be real
you were changed
they found me in a ball
by the toilet with you there
nearly floating
and they took you off
in some kind of a plastic bag
looked like a strong bag
and they took me off to a place
i can't accurately recall
full of questions and tests
they spun the inside of a
big machine
around my head
looking for something
a blip or a funny picture
maybe you
but they didn't get it
and in the old days i would have
found that funny.
they let me out so i headed back
but then i remembered what happened
the picture in my head
they let me home but
i don't really have homecomings
here any more
those are feelings too.
sometimes
i walk to the bathroom
i don't understand it
i usually just stare a good long time
at it
they didn't wash it quite right
or something
but sometimes i lay down there
by the toilet
and look for you in the cracks
and put my hand on the
spot where your heart would have been
if it'd fallen out of your chest
that i might feel your heart beat
through the tiles or something
i guess that's crazy.

Days like this i'm reminded
of old tammy baker
she was a natural beauty
big laugh
big heart
legs that opened up
like a picture book
and up between there it
was all warmth and freedom
which she refused to trim
i found that quite sexy
in a vintage porn
kind of way
and sliding it in was like
putting on your favorite
t-shirt.

we made love impolitely
but always with affection
completely without pretense
we asked for what we wanted
and for the most part,
we got it
she enjoyed a good
spanking, but wasn't in on
the hair pulling on account of
there's a history of baldness
by her mother's side
or something.
we weren't weird about it
but everybody's got a
hangup or two.

you know
i never told her a lie
oh,
except the one where i
said i was in chicago
hanging out with buddy
guy or something
cause i didn't feel like
fucking and didn't
wanna say that
but i wasted a good lie
cause she wouldn't have cared
that much anyhow.

like all things that pass
she's frozen in the time
of my knowing her, but
if i've any faith in
our kind, i'd believe she's
still the same, because
everything about her was good
perfect in the way
some humans are
all in all not bad for a bible belt
girl
who could put the fear of god
aside
for an hour or so
and let her body
do the talking.

of all the variations of mankind,
i think the Old Boys have
got it best
the great bulls of the
forgotten buffalo fields
their liver spots are
on the move
hairpiece is slipping off
like rocket on the salt flats
they're arguing about
unemployed shortstops
betting on the ponies
with mexican penny
and a company dime
ridiculed by youth,
resented by kin,
forgotten by society,
their time is short enough
to eat from a booster chair
they shit at their leisure
mostly without noticing
and are frequently
blowing into dusty
handkerchiefs.

but i'm jealous as hell
of the Old Boys
cause it's truly beautiful
to be left quite the fuck alone
when you can't hide
nobody goes looking
for you
and you know what?
they all seem to be in
on the great secret joke
that most of us will
never know.

Angelina had been sick for about a week
vomiting water. shitting water.
vomiting juice. shitting juice.
christ i kept thinking, she's so goddamn
skinny already
she's going to seep off into
her bedsheets
and evaporate forever
while i'm in the living room
changing the music or something
always fetal
at night she'd put one finger on my
back to make sure i was there
Angelina was dying, it seemed
i kept feeding her these stupid
home remedies she'd come up with
and making her protein shakes
but boy she'd just throw them all right up
and groan, and say
i don't feel good.

when the fever finally broke we stepped outside
into the morning of the gods
and we breathed in finally
but sometimes a moment is all you get
just then the crows started in
breaching that kind of perfection
with their terrible screams
that made Angelina say
something died today
i said something dies every 0.2 seconds
(a figure which i had made up on the spot)
she said shut up stop being so logical
you know what i mean.

as we went to her car
to get her the first meal
in a week
there was Izzy lying on her side
in the gravel driveway
with the flies and the bugs
and you can tell right away when
something is dead,
especially something you love
even if it was just our silly
perfect little cat
that we often ignored
now all black and stiff
and full of sawdust.

see no one seems to think it's all that sad
when they hear someone else's cat died
but that one fucking hurt, man
and to see Angelina collapse on her
new-found legs like that
choked by her crushing sorrow
asking me like a child
what's wrong with her
what's wrong with her
what's wrong with her
what's wrong with her.

late one lousy sunday
the whole damn sky seemed
to be coming down in unison
heavy and slow
like a sheet of fungus
goddamn birds didn't even bother
they just rummaged around in the streets
picking at the rotten things
and as for me,
i drizzled down the gutter
to sunset and rosemary:
the nu-ghetto.
and the rising stink there
happened to match my condition
so it seemed like the place to be.

the neighborhood
used to be full of factories and
southern working homes for the underpaid
now it's just shit
one long alleyway for the crack-fiends
and the penny-peddlers
well i guess a lie can only hold its pose
for so long, until it runs out of juice
and reveals its true self upon collapse
every now and then some brotha
takes a machine gun to the place
shoots up a few of his kind
you can't blame him
but i figured if i could make it
a few more blocks to the bar
and haunt that joint
till the rain stopped..
maybe get a few bourbons down
and stare at some cheap average tits,
the head might clear out a bit.

but i got what i expected,
which was less than anyone could hope for
the sun couldn't even find itself,
let alone the inside of that place, and
all the buckshot blondes were cutting their tongues
with a simultaneous laugh that could curdle ox-milk
and the stiletto brunettes were sharpening their teeth
on the old and weak
jesus christ,
watching those old forgotten ballsacks
lick themselves into the ladies' favor,
drunk on beer and perfume,
pissing away their last lousy dollar
on a dream
is enough to make a man
hate his own kind.

i punched down a tequila sunrise
and chased it with some nails
but i knew it was no good
it didn't take long before
it all came splattering up
landing square on some geezer's
penny loafers
and he sounded like an old diesel barge
humping it on in to a dingy harbor
when he groaned "oh hell."

so, feeling quite satisfied,
i stumbled to my feet
tipped the barkeep a penny
and got the fuck outta there
guess the sun will have to wait.

drink your death you
motherfucker
drink it
die your death you
coward, coward
it's all shit.

this toilet is shit!
this toilet is shit!
this toilet i throw
all of my things into
all of my shit i throw
my fucking brains to you
the ritualized sick
the ritualized fear
the hate of life
the hatred of sick life.

the poisoned fuck
the poisoned life
the poisoned sickness
it comes to devour your
entire divinity of self
poison it
poison self
fuck it all.

i quit.