Hammering the Bored

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“I have problems,” he says
“Oh yeah?” I say, “Tell me.”
“My wife is driving me crazy,” he says
“You should fuck her more,” I say
“She doesn’t like to fuck,” he says
“You should tell her to get a hobby,” I say
“I also hate my job,” he says
“You should quit and be a farmer,” I say
“My boss is such an asshole,” he says
“You should quit, then kill your boss,” I say
“My house needs repairs,” he says
“You should burn down your house,” I say
“I’m not insured,” he says
“So get insurance, then light a match,” I say
“I don’t like your attitude,” he says
“Then you should stop talking to me,” I say
“You shouldn’t give advice,” he says
“Then stop asking it from me,” I say
… no one speaks
for a long moment …

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“What’s that hammer for?” he asks
“To bash my hand in when I get too bored,” I say
“I would never do that,” he says
“I know you wouldn’t,” I say
“That’s grotesque,” he says
“You’re just like the rest of them,” I say
“going on and on about your problems,
not one of you willing to
bash in your own hand
with a hammer.
That’s why you’re all
so god-damned boring.”

-BSB

Of Turtles and Birds

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They walked to the pond
and the sun was warm,
it encouraged them to sit on a bench
and they sat awhile and talked.

A turtle sat on a log that lay
like a waiting crocodile in the pond,
while herons tred in outward arcs
in search of primordial nourishment.

“True enlightenment,” he said, “is a turtle sitting on a log.”

“Yes,” she said, “but reality is birds pecking your face.”

-BSB

It’s How (and If) You Play the Game

This isn’t my game anymore
I was told to go home
I kick the ball around once in a while still
But I stopped playing the game
They don’t want me in
Unless I follow the rules
And make a line for the pros
But it’s not my game
I’m no pro
I don’t follow the rules
I shouldn’t play
It was good that I got out
Before I got injured
Or worse; got really good at playing

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I have a new gig, a new game
One with fewer rules
No coaches, bosses or teammates
This is my game now
And when though I’m still a loser
I’m winning

-BSB

Gnashing Teeth Outside the Chained Gates

Suck dog water, you itchy scum.
I can’t believe your kind have survived this long.

You probably hold not a clue how reviled you are,
cushioned in your own delusion by a skull thick with illusion.

I hope you choke.
You fucking toad.

You won’t get away with your hateful game too long.
The wolves will hunt you down, make no mistake.

How you made it this far, you tainted scrap of humanity, I haven’t a clue.
Shouldn’t you have died off with the seven-legged mud crabs and trilobites?

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You’re scum.
You’re worse than malaria.

Exile would be too kind.
What you deserve is incineration.

Death by massive fire-blasting until your hair crisps and skin curdles.

Your blackened crust will feed the urchins,
and any fortune you and your wretched ilk
will sink into the murky mire of obscurity.

When each of you swine meet your demises, I will dance and sing.

BSB

Not Yet

Quit? Ha!

Have I quit yet?

Even when I lost my ID, and my money?
When I didn’t have a home?
When I was sleeping in a train yard?
I didn’t have a dollar, or 18 for the ferry
card-board signs and spider-bites
heartbreak and assault
Haven’t swam in the Atlantic
or eaten a scorpion
or swung on a trapeze
but I’ve lived a life
and I’m not afraid to keep on living
so

bring it on

because I’m not going anywhere

BSB

Make Believe We’ve Solved Everything

maybe we can get together for coffee
I can throw up all over you
and the little china cups, and cream, and tablecloth

you can sit there covered in bile
and tell me a story about somebody
you used to know

you can feel like you’re helping
it’ll be good for you
I’ll feel better for a while, knowing I
helped you out a bit
but your look is still sad

you’ll get the check, and I won’t fight
we’ll hug, and say fantastic things

“Call me anytime”
“I’m always here for you”
“I wish you well”

and then
I can go back to eating poison

and longing
for someone to care

BSB

A New World Will Rise

After the bombs, the riots, the protests, and all the rest of the excitement finally subside, all that will remain will be rats, roaches, and ruin.

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That, and those winos on the corner.
Still trying to scrape together enough for a bottle
– even though the liquor stores’s gone.

When the shakes from detox subside and clarity returns, they’ll either die drinking gasoline, or they’ll form a new society.

BSB