Chia Cynic: Just add vodka and a defeatist attitude

A. Gonzales!

The old woman down the street just demonstrated her high kick
I would go into her house and knock down all the walls
Put up glass and charge admission
Eat her dog food

Insider!

You are lazy
Disinterested, cold
I sit on the porch and search the constellations
Streetlights, strange cars like a prophesy
While you sit on the couch groaning
Eating meatballs out of a can
John Irving vs. Salinger: Title Match!

He'll tell you that he likes the fresh air as in the same breath he inhales the light smoke of a cigarette like a benediction. He'll praise your hospitality with disdainful eyes and no sense of dualism. Once hurt a person will carry it forward, language like ripples in a pond, monosyllabic, half-hearted.

Sighs.

I light candles as a past-time and place small flowers in front of Siva in supplication. My neighbor downstairs invites me in again and again to see her crucifix that she keeps so that her small apartment will take on some tradition, Jesus' wounds like a camera taking snapshots of the clever baby to send up to heaven; Her grandmother's mute eyes contained within the Sacred Heart of Mary.

It's the words that matter. Like a hymn you'll repeat them in rite until you feel the clear tone beyond the intent of the hearer. A parrot could do your job better, live as you do. Like repeating yourself, like repeating yourself, like posturing in chorus.

Expand, push yourself forward as you reflect (like the Orient) on how honest it is to be small, to have no expectations beyond the breathing of the moment, honest expression falling out of you effortlessly, intention less pebbles of sound, this world
Fluid Acceptance. This world--
Honest expression? An oxymoron to justify meter.

This world is no place for anyone with a mouth.

Pugilists!

You push, you push forward, go forwards as backwards, it makes no difference. It's all headed for impact. It's all the same, like repeating yourself in litany, like falling and falling and repeating a rosary.

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