Classified
I eat too much. I get on top of people. I take and take. I feed the animals. I frown at priests. I walk all over the grass, away from the paths. I despise. I resent. I field questions and force doors. I rape as I write. I crucify. I crucify kids. I prefer The Rolling Stones. I wallow and I waste years. I dream bad scenes and perform ungodly acts. I cry, cry like a horn. I upset tables and tear up wires. I drone. I drone on. I drink to excess. I bore the walls rigid. I fly jets into pets. I take up golf. I play with fire and fire-hoses.
I bury everything in earth, hate in spades, I cruise grim streets, I fake concern, I re-make the world with a hammer. I am polite. I worry. I make mistakes and I pay and I fade away. I grit my teeth, I seethe underneath. I smash glass ornaments, I sever shoe-laces, piss on carpets, cheat at cards, I cut strangers’ faces.
I live in fear, kick dogs, I climb trees and throw rocks, I hate hotels, hate the hills, I have the shakes, and the money, I keep a pistol under the stairs, I have affairs. I swim poorly, wash rarely, talk loudly; I declare. I was not there, nor here, I wasn’t anywhere. I career, I veer, I over-steer. I am perfect and graceful and you wouldn’t want to know me, I’m lonely, I’m phony and I’m desperate for a drag on a fag or a punch in the jaw, I am the law.
I sprawl on the floor, I adore. I snore, I forego breakfast for a fat feast at four. I abhor, I glare, I remain aloof and aloft – can’t you see me scream across the sky? I enter prize draws, I take long walks, I like lifting weights, painting railings, I like to laugh at others’ failings, I go hunting, I go Dutch, do little but bitch; I don’t do much.
I frown at priests, I hate Beethoven least, I field questions and force doors, what am I good for? I cling and I clutch, I take and I take, I have the shakes, and the money, I make my own pastry, I need, I need, I need, I never bled on the bed, I don’t swear, I care, I caress, I have brown hair, I run when I’m scared. I dance and I sing, I wear an ex-lover’s chain and my mother’s charmless clothes, I sew, I make. I live by the park, I turn white in the dark. I loom, I lurch, I walk with a limp not a crutch; I don’t do much.