From often congealed birthdays spring happy fakes
who rip turbines out of their nails and the ice
slides pithy and droll. Beating down on the back of
Tom whoever and bitterness of that.
(In a grass hut tucked in the misty womb of New Jersey)
A- (Came home drunk and exhausted) This is not the tuber where my shit was supposed to be stuck.
B- Suit yourself A___. I'll not fuck off into a sock drawer. I will not have this seriousness be pleasant to me.
(All beings in the night begin to sway and a manifesto of light pours over all. Buster Keaton arrives in a suit but is covered in BLOOD)
Bust Keaton- I SHRUG MY SHOULDERS.
A- Our bearing often seems intolerable. I see dinosaurs when sleep overtakes me. This is not pleasant.
B- Please send Buster Keaton home, to Jamaica.
(A. pulls out a shotgun and blows Buster Keaton's head into stars, not unlike the sky above Malibu on night like this one)
A- How I could love something like spring. Can this be our end? Our breaking into shares? Hark Hark and low, we all shudder to believe.
Some mandibles corrupt us here or chain our heats
producing an effect not unlike the sound of guns.
Holy marble rye and the effects of underground lightning
for it does pander and pound. God, if seafaring be light,
why plunder the rocks. Let felines break trouble and we
shall stay, restless and gray.
(Buster Keaton lies in a his own blood and does the backstroke while singing Guns N Roses covers to a loved one the audience cannot and will never understand)
B- His singing depresses me. I must die now.
(B. Shoots A. in the head and then kills himself. The play continues but is meant for robots)
White Blood Cells- How lovely the day peaks. I am forgotten yet pound and drink alike I find a new home. Is it not the morrow?
Red Blood Cells- I need to fuck? Where are the flowers? This is not Canada or snakey borders. Where am I protecting now.
(God then breaks in the window and steals their TV and laughs at the dead)
God- You guys really fucked it up. Chorus, go home and be with your loved one. Everyone here are bricks stacked liked people. We are none, and now not people. Go home. These men are alone.
(The light falls to God's fake tears. They fall on the men and they are suddenly alive. They savagely beat God to death and then go outside, to fall in love.)