Sunday, November 8, 2009

Piggy Do

Brickle-brackle the universe comes caving in.
In a car by the freeway, a police interceptor comes crashing into a divet in the retaining wall and this dam breaks open laying ice all over the speedway.
I look up in the night's sky and there's this red band of lights coming down like roman candle going brickle-brackle.
The radio goes from some chant about a soft drink and fuzzes up into this loud bleating noise warning me that the end is near.
I realize the lighter in my car doesn't work and I exit the vehicle. Sauntering passed the dead cruiser I say a prayer for this flaming cop who begs me to help him.
Once again I'm without a pistol. I watch him burn down to the ground and realize the red lights are touching down in the city.
Large explosions make me deaf. I look around for someone else who might get the joke, but everyone is either on fire or getting there.
The realization that I'm wet with ice dawns on me and I walk through a flaming family and over a median. Down on the grass I blashpheme loudly and Pat Robertson's body drops out of the sky and shurcrumps on a meadow under the overpass.
He's curled up in a fist and I realize his eyes are fixated on some hell I'll never know.
I cover the body with an AIDS quilt and move on down towards downtown.
The hobos are alive and screaming like banshees. It's their day and I will not deny them that. The meek have inherited the Earth...charred and flaming the meek have won cinders.
A glancing shot from a small pistol sends me down a city street and I rise to face Dick Cheney's head on a stick. They've made some sort of Lord of the Flies sentiment to the old sack of shit.
I look Dick in the eye and send an evil voodoo curse into what's left of his brain. His face begins to melt like Indiana Jones and I slump down on the pole and sleep.

I wake to large, yellow submarine cascading through what's left of the Earth. It's doing fishtails in the grand canyon, it's moving up into Alberta and sending dead timber up into the North Pole, it moves down and fells pine all over Richardson, VA.
The dead corpse of John Lennon is piloting the beast and he guns it into Lady Liberty's fuck hole.
I reel at the blasphemy of this scene and send a crucifix into the cockpit. Lennon utters a last "goo goo gajoob" and takes out the ghost of the World Trade Center.
The spirits align and vote Republican and the nation is restored and Jesus comes down and beats a leper into submission and Tanya Harding picks up a pole and beats O.J. like a gong and Heidi Fleiss sells T-shirts out front and Paris Hilton goes down on the dead body of Keith Richards and a promoter for Don King sends a nuke bomb into a forest in Tuscany and the Pyramids become a game of Tetris and there's a new President and he's Jesus and Jesus says "Thou shalt not bogart that joint" and Republicans become theiving hippies and gypsy their asses around the globe looking for gypsum and frankensense...frankensince....frankenbeans...and a retarded monkey is brought back from the edge due to new cures in tubing steak into the elderly where the silent spill seed all over the face of the innocent and call it fools gold.
Can you feel me, Baltimore?
We up in here, ya'll!
Brickity Brackle
My rhymes make witches cackle
Say up up
Marlon Brando takes a keg of afterlife and throws it from the third floor of the Chateau Marmot onto Snoop Dogg and a race war breaks out between dolphins and Eskimos.
The dolphins have the guns, but the Eskimos have the numbers.
I close my eyes and wake up in some valium dream. I shake it off and look over at the alarm clock and realize it's 2005 and I'm, like, seven years late for an important date.
She doth, she does, she did me on edge.
I het, I het, fit, brick, brack, Sid Viscious killed my cat.
And back again.
In work, on a computer, waiting for the end of the world.
But I'm a step ahead: just listen for the brickle brackle, the unseen battle. Armies arise and I'll order curly fries. There's no menace like the one that's under the nose. Like a stink weed under the arm. Like a rotting carcass in junipers. Like brickle brackle. You'll know the end is here when

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