like the moon
I empty myself of my self
and become new
once a month
I’m again
so full of myself
the hookers shrouded
in their heavy perfume
their faces covered up
in their heavy makeup
wearing their heavy breasts
their heavy hearts
the church is dark tonight
no candles burning
for the dead or for the living
“How are you?”
“Fine, I guess…”
“What’s with the sadness?”
“Oh, that… It’s just the bottom side of happiness.”
“You think? Looks rather deep to me…”
“Oh, thank you! I’m working on it. You know, the deeper the sadness, the higher the happiness that follows.”
“Move that heavy ass!”
the robot voice
of the wheelchair night prophet
orders
PS I want to sleep early tonight, so I figure out a way to make my run last shorter: I make it more intense. The same must apply to life.