Logical Unsanity

New geography – no redefinition
We burn the maps and torch the archives
We live for manifest destiny
Dead politicians in Rome, flung in brothels with chastity belts see
Husbands selling wives with no motivation, less compensation, input rivals output
Lovers living lies, rope out of reach but rather handy for
Inticing games, everyone wins
Conquest like new rooms
Like old dogs and old tricks, teach me.
Old corners or old bedposts, just a new chick, a cracked egg.
Old fashioned American explorers, drawing rivers in the mud
Washed up, beached whales
Eyes cry suds with hot scents, does that make you sweat?
Work it out, clean me up, breathe me in,
Scream, declare: I found it, this flag sticks in your skin
Let my new nation pierce your flesh
Have pride in this country
Land of the free, duty free, cheap cigarettes,
Quick vacations and quicker fucks
Declare: do not touch beyond the glass, sanity displayed in the raw
Please keep all limbs inside the vehicle,
Arms and legs and tongues, you speak
A language we don’t understand
Corrections made in Dixie land, allow this revision, embrace it in its permanence,
Feel the heat from the brand
Watch the glass turn to sand.

You remind me of this guy I used to know.”

A man can dream, though, can’t he? No? Portugal was winning 2-0. That’s what I wanted. I wanted that. I was up in the air, cheering, on my feet, cheering, up in the air…that’s what I wanted?

“He had more gray in his hair, though, said his family aged young. Your hair looks fine, though. I like it like this, a nice dark brown. Do you dye it?”

Another round of the lager, yep, Guinness, keep it coming, thank you, please. That would be lovely.

“Have you ever been to California? It’s lovely, really.”

And I’m up on my feet, cheering.

Who scored?

“You’ve got the same eyes, you know. He said he had a younger brother. You got a brother? How old are you?
“Are you married?
“Have any kids?
“Where do you work?
“Where do you live?
“Are you listening to me?”
“Oh. No. Sorry. Excuse me.”

I pushed my way to the back, the little boys’ room, for all the little boys who snuck into local sold out bars at seven in the evening. The door made a little swooshing noise like an old fashioned saloon entrance. Swoosh. This bathroom ain’t got enough room in it for me.

The urinal was clean. The room was empty. Did I even have to pee? Did I even have to pee? Did I even have Read on »