For Allen G

If knowledge is power than I am building a bomb in the garage. I go out there after work and family dinner, faithfully tinkering with my city killer. In America, nobody notices, because the rich are busy pretending to be poor as if poverty were street credit in a game you feign not to win. The poor too though, are counterfeiting wealth, a cubic zirconium nightmare. They front knowing the ladder's rules but the real manual comes at the price of a silver spoon. Yes, flesh has always been currency but we are running out, and with inflation there is more silicon, more plastic, and we are going into debt. Silver spoons make for broken teeth.

I am looking for special deals on answers at James Dean's five and dime. I'm going to run off and join a circus, train swine to dance in dresses. It won't be hard, even a pig owns a dress these days. Everybody takes the train into the city, they pine, they ail on vinyl seats. Ever take the train into the city? Commute sweat smells like anxiety. It smells like sickly yellow and formaldehyde. Even a corpse hates the smell of formaldehyde. All the children on the subway are malformed and have demerits. But not the good kind that makes you look like a badass. The kind that means when you grow up, you'll still have issues and they wont be in style anymore.

Nobody in my generation wants to be present, preferring a state of perpetual adolescence. I advise youth to die before you get old. Who takes that advice? The bald eagle's young are cultural cannibals. Princely avifauna. Do you know about the vulture? It gorges itself until it is too heavy and then has to vomit to fly. Bulimia bird. They will reprocess dead punk, dead dance music; pretend that reassembly means transcendence.

The rain pelts these old streets, and the smell of wet asphalt perfuses everything, and everything is washed down the drain. At night, I crawl on my belly and siphon gas from car's tanks. Just to make it north to freedom, to see my love. This love is pure from faith, eyes closed echoing forward, entwined by the sound.

If knowledge is power than I am building a bomb in my garage.
Such a dirty bomb.