Wash Your Hands

Melatonin, eyes so soft and felt so deep in the heart. Handheld, portable blisters sear the skin. I keep thinking about how your skin smells like the sea, and how you feel against me. My dear, Melatonin, you beautiful degenerate, you’ve ruined me, my dear suffragette. I keep gazing into celluloid eyes, thinking that you’ll wink to my surprise. You are so form fitting, electrical bulb in ivory talons. I run around circles in my head, trying to make you out from them. There is no near printer that can realize the beauty this general glance begins, I’ve paid weightless hours to feel you bend. I’m stuck inside what was the two of us. I’m slowly leaking my glands all over the memory of you. I’m stuck in seahorse heaven, having carried your weight from here to the end of this song that’s caught in my head. I’m trying to figure you for a demon, to make it all right. Deep inside, I still feel warm touches, familiar glances, and orders to take garbage out. I’m forever yours and will never forget you. You’ve locked me in the steely walls that make better men homosexuals. I can’t wait to be turned down again. I enjoy your hatred and pity. I’ll once be one inside of what you fooled me into making. I am half a man, in my man-sized saccharine for what you may perform on me. All bets are off, as you can see. You’ve strung me up on a tree, you’ve made me out to be dead ruffles on quantum collapse. I miss you and your abuse. I wish I could have been of something other than use. We’ll wake up one morning and decide that we’re so separate and equal and we’ll walk away to strange lands where we run like buffalo into steel maw traps and blame each other for eating one another’s feet. I’m so strange now, I don’t even know me. I don’t even know you. But, you tell me it’s OK and we keep walking this lonely desert road in the middle of Chicago. The city lights turn you on, but you know I don’t like crowds. We fall wasted into an empty and vacant lot and hold hands as you catch bruises from my criticism. We marry in a trash can and breed children the like of apes. We name them after a fall moon and decide that we’ll seek peace in the Lord and the God Our Father. I find work in a factory that makes 7-11’s. We read Hesse and tell each other that when I’m inside of you we are one. Then we slink away to different corners of the bed and land on ugly tacks that someone left from hanging posters of “Let Freedom Reign.” Soon, the dinner parties kick in an I can’t take it anymore. I decide to walk out on you for a cigarette and a cheeseburger out on the outskirts of what we used to call home. But, still the children cry for more DVDs, Playstations, and chicken that’s shaped like Pterodactyls. I envy this sick, fat fuck that once watched the Daily Show while sniffing lines off the pack of cigarettes he just smoked and is trying to figure out what CDs to sell for more beer and burritos. One night, the children are off at some turnstile that we call in-laws and we fuck like rabid beavers because we hate each other. Our bodies slam into each other like planets spiraling into black holes and you ask me if I still love you. Of course I do. I love you and this mess we made, gift wrapped and sent to our former selves as a warning of what we might become. You laugh, then realize that no one closed the gate and I realize that there’s no way I’m walking out there in this weather. You decide to go on your own and the gate gets closed on this bloody corpse of a life with a sound of the Minivan taking off for some lover named Travis. I sit alone and watch TV until I can’t peel my eyes open for another sickening look at a Ronco product. You call a month later and decide that the kids are best left with you, and that for this marriage we must undo. We struggle sickly for the next several months and you leave your lover and I leave the TV. We meet each other in an ugly pine box called marriage court and something is said and something is done and we can never be caught dead as one. A month later, I call to telephone the kids and find that no one wants to see me. I look in the mirror and realize you’re still not there. I walk to the edge of the phone book for help, but everyone has wrote me off. I contemplate pesticide, but decide it’s unaffordable. I’m look at life through the butt end of a burrito and realize that everything I wanted is now down around my neck. Getting fatter, unable to form sentences I retreat into the Lazy Boy and become some Archie Bunked caldron of hatred. I start voting Republican and complaining about the teenagers and their music. Stuffed and fat on porno and nacho bell grandes I die all lousy on the sofa with some shitty beer in my hand.

Happily ever after.

XXOO