yeff boff



"This is a historic day," he said.

"For the first time ever, we will be allowed a view into the complexities of..."



He droned on and on.



We all knew he was insane.

It was sheer luck his mania

featured no violence or we'd all

be dead for sure by now.



Listening to him was like watching

a freshly disemboweled man

eating his steaming intestines off a plate

while they were still attached to him,

tucking in with a knife and fork,

beaming at you all the while,

showing his tiny, blood-slicked teeth.



His big round head was like a grapefruit.



He droned on and on,

his dull eyes riding atop a vague, condescending

half-smile, the smile of the academic,

the professor, the driven chump,

the codified fool.



The truly clueless could never see it in themselves.



His every word and action was premised upon

flawed reality. And yet he was happy, thrilled,

even as none of his plans ever worked out.

To the contrary, we were the ones

who suffered.



At least he was no one's father,

and never would be.



Later, in the company bathroom,

I jammed my fucking penknife into my carotid artery.

And began to feel half hard watching the gusher of my blood

lacing out to spatter the mirror glass and the white porcelain

sink row.



But then that was the end of that.