Jeff the Gimmick Rictus

Dark. Darkening. Furious. Fuming. Daydreaming of shooting people, no torture, no making them beg, I'm merciful, quick dispatch, bango, die motherfucker. We are being reprogrammed, I am telling you three times. The swastikas in my self-portraits were unintentional until I noticed it this morning, I suppose, now that I'm aware, they are intentional going forward 

[A VOMIT IS AN EXTREME BURP....]

Jeff Popovich

A vomit is an extreme burp
I once consoled Billy Wayne

extremely burping on my shoe

I need to start a new elephant

note page for March but was

afraid I'd forget this poem's first

sentence formatting another

month in a platform I'd rather

paint bricks than use. No

abacuses were used in the how

old are you Jeff the gimmick

rictus of this poem. I'm splat

OK, an abacus *was* used in the immediate above. Hot mess, me. Hike w L this afternoon and tomorrow and Sunday, has always helped, we'll see. I have not googled Montgomery County Maryland's requirements for purchasing a gun, Atlantic Guns right next to China Bistro on Hungerford where we're getting carryout tonight, I'm hopeful I still haven't by Monday. I'll see if I'm still here and there then too. Probably best not to name who I'll be shooting first, here's an old gag but true:





THE IDIOT

John Ashbery

Oh how this sullen, careless world
Ignorant of me is! Those rocks, those homes
Know not the touch of my flesh, nor is there one tree
Whose shade has known me for a friend.
I've wandered the wide world over.
No man I've known, no friendly beast

Has come and put its nose into my hands.
No maid has welcomed my face with a kiss.

Yet once, as I took passage
From Gibralter to Cape Horn
I met some friendly mariners on the boat
And as we struggled to keep the ship from sinking
In a storm, the very waves seemed friendly, and the sound
The spray made as it hit the front of the boat.