too much god damn chattering bullshit up in this big re-conditioned

motherfucker this morning



i want to be home with the 3 cats and our getting-out-of-hand lawn which is like the best rough field you ever saw



i am glad i am relatively distant from the world's major malevolence but god damn



i want the cool air like water on the skin and the smell of blooming gentle violet and white lilacs in the nose and throat,

not this nothing carpet smell



and i am so tired of listening to the fake, devastatingly boisterous chatter and yammering of these picayune ass farmers around here



i command all of you to read fucking Catcher In The Rye or do something or just shut up



arrgh



it does me no good to splash around in my little puddle of venom



better to be on the water, trying for fish



tomorrow morning is Saturday morning when we shall drink a Bloody Mary or 3 and then hie to the river



where the cold bass

lurk and dart,



dark and true