Sometimes I Just Hate Myself

Standing in an open field the sun burned deep through my forehead mesmerized by the arrow in mychestand the bullet in my back--motionless quivers a numbed spine paused my heart in a rapture of devious contempt from a long distance voice of panic depression while lying with a rose petal of thornless infinity---the bearer of this booklet trapped in a Zodiac chasm of bottomless neverchoices chants a harmful chord of courted chaos. Free admission for the file of names that pass this way that leave the dead lamp burning for useless noones---abandon the frenzy wise sleuth and don the love clown that fits you so well. Service to the innane truth you call yourself and hope the arrow bullet blend in a vicegrip ballet-- crippling your for afterlife shadow of uncommon pretense. Take it to the place where you stand lying down and grovel in your own wasted time with little notion of grevious malice. There is no pain only longing---no death only one size fits all nothing and hear the vultures laugh lovingly in the distance. Eat at Joes.