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pooped my pants, dingus.
the rapid shuffle of boot soles provide percussion,
my heart beat dictates tempo.
the melody of distant, maximum volume headphones provide
faint melody.
the vocal track, i can make it. i cant make it. just let go.
guttural punctures the surface tension, sputtered filth.
something is wrong.
nothing comes to mind in the Zen state of purge.
urges of a grim nature pause, the purge sets me free.
now i am free.
tooth paste makes the shame go away, fresh and ready for more.
the bristles tickle my bleeding gums, i have visions of jazz.
murphy in the moonlight, playing a solo of terminal importance.
something is happening.
someone is calling me,
sending me in to fits of anxiety and indulgence.
i am not alone in my head.
there is another,
an entity.
a teacher.
a muse.
something intangible.
drunk, puke. stupid crapshoot/7
