Your Other Left
–like a glass jar slamming into concrete. Gregory scrambles. Button tapping. Ruffling sheets. Wholly Muff, she’s home.
803 Maple. A large house with a grey roof. Trim lawns. Eye-pleaser green Go ‘head, take your shoes off. Grass your feet. Perfect for puppy defecation, go ‘head. Driveway for thin tires, soupin’ up the daylight–itchy ouchie itchy ouchie! Mother discipline inside. Dad. Nike flip-flops. Always with the golf club. Tee me. Happy-happy–soupin’ up the daylight.
“Did you see the movie film…”
“–oh yes, oh yes. Quite right.”
Skies hot and not much leafy to block the sun tan–real tan, florescence, walking dogs with short shorts on, hair down, open for business, open for hunks daily, 24/7/365, mighty mighty breast bones. Blue sky seamless. Full of lawn mower sounds. Birds: tops of heads: haireds–the human essence dying at dead ends; balds-the outer edge of consciousness shim-shinning like dyed and waxed supermarket apples.
“How you do?”
“Oh yes, I do.”
“Him shim through.”
“Oh me shim, too.”
Chemical enhancement. Parking lot children. Mothers and hustle-ups. Eating as we live. Scarfing New Jersey imagination. Human innovation. Popcorn chemically enhanced to taste like your front lawn–honey, let’s get rid of that dog. Aisles and aisles of smilers. Hooray for granola, cereal compacted into cereal bars (factory floor sweepings–janitorial commission), egg whites, sunshine potatoes, caramel puffs, candy strings. Hooray! Hip-hip for happy! Taste good! Cartwheel for food! Food industry good! Makes sex. Makes lots of sex for lots of monies for more sex for more monies! Fist pump high-five! Pay for smile and then pay for food!
And cool when you walk down the street to look cool for street and man-men and open women to swaddle in the bed clothes, to seep something, to smock-a-coodle-coo when the youth peaks.
For wrappers. For hooray!
“Chunk bars for my chook-chooks”
Elation that ends in the thin layer of air just above the ballmart–survives in it’s own world and dies outside the person perspective–the genius, the knowledges of it all, knowing without knowing, without knowing-within-knowing, everything-in-one-bottle. Solution! Fifty franks! Just above the toilets of the town houses. Just above the fat tuesdays of the marketing flashbulbs–smile for the criers. Just above the windsteam of the jumbo jetskis.
“Janie, I can’t see you anymore.”
“But I killed my husband.”
Then outside the nonsense: noise–pierced yahoos and braberry purses. High-fives for sex that comes in cartons. High-fives for the great edges of knowledges. The spittled cusp of everything. Figured out. The know-it-all for everyone. Congratulations. Conflagrations. Conflatulations. Great good. The greater, greatest good. The great, gleaming globe. All for us and us for all. Steaming, self-enclosed muskateers. Free and unfree. Free and bounded at the ever-loving ankles. Free to act within allotment. Without a lotment. Scruffed. Screwed.
The stars. Watching. The airless space. Expanding. Ever outward. And we are tighter. And we are dimming–every other rock that falls through space.
And the creator distance is greater because of decision we have mader.
Because the manure stench of our lawns rises higher than our consciousness. Closed and hoping. Damned and damning.
Gregory went to his bedroom and finished.