Soon as the page goes up bright
and post-modern white most of you
little shits scatter to the scourge of
cockroach mathematics but I am
a teller, and the tale won’t leave my
hand alone until I play every
soft trombone moment its lullaby.
Every day my mind thinks up reasons to
create worlds for characters who could
stand up to those of HBO’s The Wire
the kind of characters who if they were
ever forced to live a day of the written universe
of Friends or Big Bang Theory
(the ugly ginger step-child of Friends)
would just go absolutely fucking nuts and
meta-slaughter that place dry, a-light the
margin highways with the
Men and Women who bleed
Crayola Red & Crayola Blue.
And Hooker Green, too.
In the end if you want me
I’ll be on top of the credit unions
in another more hyper violently set off Fight Club redux
with Al Swearinjun and the rest of Deadwood,
and fucking finishing what was fucking was started,
kicking the shit out of every AMC zombies with three from Romero.
Maybe just floating around with Zooey Deschanel, making sure this is
her last shitty sitcom. Making sure we all get to bed just a little
Unsettled- that’s me. The Trouble Teller. So if you want that clean,
trouble-less America Idol bedtime story told in a flash mob or Glee-fuck?
There be dragons up n here.