Second Hand Confrontations
11/03/98

Hesitated with a steady hand. Eyes meet. Glances are glaring. Attachments fill the important folders. Paper clipped photographs, rough edges. Blur women. Forgotten names. Lost Souls. Typewriter frenzy with gasoline fumes permeating. Radiating Teflon Survival of the fittest, Manic rolling paper laced carpet fuzz ran through a meat grinder. Quench the beast the lurked the dark chambers at night. That preys young girls in white nightgowns that sleep walk. Giants walk the streets of Manhattan. Andre the Giant has a posse you know... Exchange toenail clippings with pride.

Relentless musical notes clammer my head. Pounding away insane melodies. Crescendo. Crash! I must be lame to say lame things. A cripple in my own write. Most people sleep, I cause trouble. Having no name can be a burden. Random acts of self-indulgence. Nothing is nice anymore. You can say that again. You can say that again. You can say that again. You can say that again. Internal differences cause the separation of prophets and wanderers. The journey has begun. I hate it all. I never stand at all. Laying on the edge. Too close for anyone. Without me, within me, fears collect and consume. Political mumble jumble. Vote Tomorrow. Anyone except Pataki. Remember, we want our kids to be able to go to school. Burn him and Rudolph Guianni. Spray the crowd with pepper gas. Leech poison into their drinking water. Kill the unwanted. Backstabbing, underground political machine, sporting the racing strips and exhaust tip. Feel the engine tear apart ligaments and tendons in your legs. Burn the visions from your head. Lie to your children. Steal their Halloween candy. Let them all be scared. Trailed marked backwards think line of time restrain. No, not later. But now is here. Tell me your sins and hope to God that I don't stare deep into your eyes and steal what is mine.

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