money in the toilet
gutter girls laughing
cackling
big teeth showing
swollen gums bursting
eyes scanning
looking for boys to kiss
broken windows poofing in light snow
would look beautiful
if it was a movie
if it was a stage show
if it was movie foam
but like death to me in a trash squat in Slovenia
I rise up from the broken-wood, folding cot that I lay in
with torn, army green fabric
my spindly body shaking wildly
back bones, shoulders and ribs shaking wildly
the aggressive cold
‘wait, couldn’t I die tonight?’
I thought, as I noticed the
lusty
moving
shadows
around me
crone’s eyes widen for play at me
I approached these hellcats feeding
with a snatch and a glare
I grab their bottle
absinth doesn’t taste very good when chugging it in
desperation
but it’s your only way out
bazooka day
If I were rich
I mean filthy, stinking rich
I’d call up the Mayor of Bozeman, Montana
And buy a mountain range
The beautiful kind
Far off in the distance
With snow white summits
And that light blue glow
It’s an impressive part of the earth
That sniffs the sky
The horizon of Bozeman, Montana’s super highway
A beauty to gaze at
If I was rich
I mean filthy, stinking rich
I’d buy that mountain range
And have ‘Bazooka Day’
It would consist of
A couple of friends of mine
About nine
We’d have old aluminum lawn chairs
One for each of us
And snacks
And a grill
And a lot of beer
Tall cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon
We’d also have a missile launcher—
Maybe three
And plenty of missiles
And RPG’s
And an RPG launcher
The kind from the great movie ‘Red Dawn’
We’d sit there all day and shoot our missiles and RPG’s
At my mountain range
We wouldn’t be that good
And that would make it all the more fun
Maybe we’d give one of my friend’s girlfriends
A life-sized Hummer
She could control it by radio control
And we’d all try to blow it up
With our missiles and RPG’s
But we wouldn’t be that good
And we’d probably be kind of drunk
But that would make it all the more fun
Like when you stink at bowling
And everyone gets a razz ‘cause it’s your turn to toss
We’d sit there in our decrepit lawn chairs
Shooting missiles and RPG’s
At my Montana mountain range
In Bozeman Montana
If I were rich
Filthy, stinking rich
running with your arms out
Driving across the Midwest
You want to stop the car
Run out onto the vast plains
With your arms out
Feel where the sky touches the dry yellow earth
The air seems cleaner
Crisper
Your pores open to feel the air and breathe
Like you’ve always promised them they would
You want to be a part of that Midwestern painting
You’ve seen
You want to run through a Jon Steinbeck book
You’ve read
But you don’t
You’re logical,
And your friend
Is a bummer
“What would you do once you got out there?”
“We don’t want to get in trouble”
Finally, you’re convinced
“Yeah, I’d just pant hard, walking back to the car.”
You can’t stop the momentum of the car
Or your life
You can’t push down on the brakes
And walk out onto the earth
That’s touching the sky
But that’s not me
I always make sure I pull over
Step over the fox fence
And run
With my arms out
