Stop Signs and Wooden Crates (repeat repeat repeat)

Bubble gum bubbles.
Heart-throb heartache.
Record player playing records.
Come repeat my repetition with me.
A simulated simulation of a hologram,
a planted plant wilting in the wintry days.
Everything gray, everything drifting away.

I’m here, if you knock, I’ll answer.
I’m waiting at a stop sign, waiting for a sign.
I’m digging through previously dug holes,
looking for a new route to Chinese factories,
where I heard they’re manufacturing a new Me.

Blow in, blow out.
We’re like turbulence,
shaking old ladies’ beehives,
just a sand drift on the seaside.

There’s an empty bottle
on the window sill…
I don’t know whose it is,
which booze it is,
but I’m sure I had a sip,
and maybe I had a fifth.

Define the definition of the repetition.
Sitting in the kitchen, staring at the kitten.
We’re both waiting for milk, for something real.
Innocent and vulnerable; only…
my thoughts kill.

Hers purr.

She jumps in my lap, I jump back.
The mouse runs across the floor,
we both attack. We measure our fur
against some foreign odor.
I think I’m human. She thinks she’s a cat.
She’s more sure. The world rotates
like a rotating plate. I stand at the window,
I stand at the gate. The wind comes and oscillates.
Our bones shift and grate, end up in wooden crates.

The last thing you’ll hear from me, sung by a singer
in a Karaoke bar, is “I’ll stop the world and melt for you.”
But we’re living in a tundra with no sun ta’ warm up ta’.

T.S Elliot
B.S. Smelly Shit.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

I’m beat.



One response to “Stop Signs and Wooden Crates (repeat repeat repeat)

  1. ๐Ÿ™‚ ๐Ÿ™‚ ๐Ÿ™‚

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