sinking be the ship
—Anselm Berrigan
Did I just do that? Overcompensating due to
undesirable location? Redundancy, they say,
is orgasmic (if handled appropriately). But
don’t handle me like that. I read this entire
book in ten minutes flat. Which is more than I
can say of your palatial underwear soundtrack.
It’s a spooky afternoon. I drive down the
hillside for reception and a hamburger that
seems to have gotten lost. Why are small
towns always brimming with despair?
“You’re projecting,” I hear someone say
over the whir of the fan. “Please,” I say, and
he hush-hushes me, afraid I’ll blab about his
new nose. Perhaps it’s just the heat but I’m
reading this all with the voice of Alan Shore,
shifting weight from one side of my jaw
to the other. At first I think it’s funny,
then poignant, but as time goes on, spooky
and creepy. It’s “nacho ordinary hot sauce.”
October’s fast approaching, though, and
while I’ll be happily single for something
like a month a half, true love is just around
the corner; untried estuaries into which
our Chronicles of Sardonica will sail.
Until then, my ripe and future fruits,
let’s tuck our tight lips into our fragile
asses. A hearty bon voyage to us all!
