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Acrobatic, but not fantastic, that's it. A weed connoisseur, but not weed. Not even acid. Sitting on a pillow because his ass is sore. And not with sores, but an ache. A long, deep ache. Something absurd. Absurd as Italians in a beginners Italian class. Pigs ahead without steam. Or maybe with. None of it makes sense. There's a sign in front of it all, reads: Those without strong Constitution, need not drink of the water. Never knew why the "constitution" part was capitalized. Grabbing heads... meaning heads, and taking them out back to have a "word" - or two - with them. Interesting, but not too. I mean, where does it go? Not outside, not inside. Here on the inside, the outside's so far away. That's one... the one? No. But it's one of the one's, an outsider's perspective on the relentlessness of the inside trying to be outside. Knowing the skills you'll need on the inside. It's funny how they come running. Like sharks to blood. They know the scent, their smell is keen. Some say it's natural instinct, but personally, i think it's an acquired taste. "Taste" being the operative word. Don't let them tell you they don't enjoy it. A long-haired man walks into a restaurant & is refused service because of the smell of his shoes. A bartender at the "local pub" refuses to pour another drink for the guy who is always there, just sittin' around, eating peanuts & busting the balls of any Joe Schmoe who happens to walk in with a Jets shirt on. New Jersey this, New Jersey that... all blows out my ass. Eat shit & die. This is why. No need to try. All leaves die. That's the poetic bohemian shit that was missing out in the first place. Anyway, the vulgarity begins when the drinks flow. Is this a good sigh. Or more like a moan. "Uff," he says, as they kick his ribs in. The man delivers, what else can you say? |