Sunday, August 12, 2007

Recycle poem two

At every desk in the building is a dead-body
I try to remember the last thing I did

Aaron pulls the gray handgun from his waistband and aims the handgun and pulls the gun-trigger and the security-guard falls and the security-guard-radio falls and there's an echoing sound and little splatters of blood on the ice

Because my car broke down and I'm evil and you're evil too and your parents devoured live gazelles on prime-time television until they were elected co-presidents of the United States of America. So I quit my job and bought a guitar because I wanted to be a zoologist and murder grocery-stores

I touch a dead-body and the dead-body moves strangely, rollingly, and the dead-body makes me step away and look at a different dead-body, but all of the dead-bodies look very similar, with similar colorings and clothing and teeth

You put me in the room and the room was old so I didn't do anything for a while

Instead I poked the half-raccoon with a stick and flipped it and inspected its fleshy holes and jagged bones and the little pink muscle-tears and everywhere the thick black blood. With the stick I hooked and dragged at tendons and muscles and other things and the little raccoon legs flopped and waved in a slow-sad way

I say, "It's not right to wake up surrounded by dead bodies"

I'm in an office. I'm on the floor looking at acoustic-tile-ceiling. An alarm clock beeps. I sit up

Went grocery-shopping, I think. Needed cows-milk and ice-cream and apples, know I needed apples

I watch the dead-bodies like I expect the dead-bodies to say words but the dead-bodies don't say words and after a while I walk to the elevator. I take the elevator to the lobby. Music's playing in the elevator with no words, but there's the feeling like there should be words and the music's terrible and stupid and I hate it but I can't explain why I hate it so I hate the music and hate it

I find the boy and we build a fort in the grocery-store which is empty and there's no milk so we steal sodas from the stockroom and hide behind a stack of pallets and the dead-bodies are gone with the music and there's no sound so so so

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