Another rambled digression

    When idiots rewrite their instructions to God,
then a mud-like sky leaves its moorings. I speak on;

of the photo finish hooker, who thinks back to her

“glory days” with a Self-Righteous gas chambered

suicide scream at seeing a snot nosed boy-child
peeing openly in the ladies room.
    And what of the moneyed tough-guy who self-

aggrandizes, buying a shy brownie whore for two

boxes of cookies above an overrated red light storefront

and surreptitiously swallows an inexpensive camel

from some mangy gnat salesman.
     A rising crest of misty grease crawls across my

face, smiles inexorably and teaches a funky two-step

to my lips. Most of us believe in the gentle out-of-town

sucker who casually sneaks a peek through the knot

hole, ever mindful of how coarsely lazy sons grumble

over their ill-gotten inheritance.



      ~r.