Entry 123

The Man picked up dirt,
With hands cupped,
Then spat in it 
— this is what he expected me to purchase?

Fuck Him.

I live atop garbage island. 
Gleaming.
Pristine plastic, porcelain,
Plexiglas paradise.

Non-flammable.
Non-perishable.
Not a God damned choking hazard.

Candy Avenue tastes like tar
And it’ll clog ya the same.

Forget worries! 
Let The Man drive for awhile…

Doze off on a twinkie 
— I ate the mattress once or twice.