Wednesday, February 27, 2008

Time Trap

The neighborhood sits & waits
in boredom, waiting for flamingo hell.
Waiting for those stick legs
with fat gleaming faces
on their porches and driveways,
those fat owners fucking those flamingos,
those flamingos fucking en masse on everyone’s lawn.
Time spent with those flamingos being seen as
“good time,” time that they gave their lawns a blatant grope, again.
Husbands and wives fuck the flamingos right in front of each other,
fuck the flamingos right in front of their children as well.
This is to teach their kids that a life is a good lawn AND a good flamingo orgy, I guess.

Kids tread across their lawns,
marching their flamingo armies
against the other flamingo enemies, each kid named John, I bet every kid within five miles
is named John.
The Johns fashion their hands into guns so they
can shoot the other Johns with swift justice.

If one kid gets lucky, John grows up to be Johnny.

If not, then John grows up to be a flamingo fucker.

The women involved bathe
their kitchens in bleach.
They fuck the flamingos because they can’t get their husbands
to simulate the act.

All day, flamingos, grass and gardens.
All night husbands and wives sleep on the far sides of their beds,
dreaming of flamingos.

During the night wolves armed with baseball bats
go flamingo hunting under the primal moon.
The flamingos sleep like rocks, dead-tired from a day
of fucking and fighting.
The wolves fly through yards, arms cocked, bats ready
whack! there goes a head whack! there goes a leg
whack! whack! whack! There goes an abdomen, a neck, a little metal crutch.

Blue night light sings a bioluminescent death on fields of broken flamingos.
If one kid gets lucky, John grows up to be Johnny.

The neighborhood pours into their lawns in their Sunday attire,
hysterical over their dead lovers, dead soldiers, dead fuck buddies.
Dead lives on dead time,
the last days work is pronounced dead on the scene.

The neighborhood waits for paranoia-night-lights,
and for their husbands to return from the department store,
trucks full of new flamingos
ready to be fucked and sent to war.

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