and what is there to say
and what is there to say,
really,
at the end of a nothing day,
a forgotten evacuation of time,
talk of radio chat show provocations,
talk of barfly detritus,
talk of new furniture purchases,
talk of anxiety attacks and
irrational mental protuberances,
talk of weekend plans for
cemeteries and fucking, talk of
haircuts and Internet fluctuations and Vitamin E erectional experiments, talk of
bitter failure, talk of grade school, jambalaya, bob dylan, retirement homes, mother, all the words that lead synaptically to memory of mother’s misery, mother’s complaints, mother’s insatiable anger, talk of how
MACARONI leads to
SPAGHETTI leads to
MOTHER leads to
MISERY leads to
SPAGHETTI NOODLES leads to
THE BEL-AIRE DINER leads to
MOTHER’S FIRST STROKE leads to
SPAGHETTI-Os, leads to
HAPPY CHILDREN leads to
ELDERLY WOMAN WHO CAN’T EAT SPAGHETTI AND WHO DIED ALONE, SURROUNDED BY HUMANS.
