With Laughter, Gasps and Heart Attacks
by Adam Gaucher
Tuesday, December 03, 2002
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I look about the emptiness. A couple
stumbles in, adding to the emptiness. I
talk about the atmosphere to my little piece
of paper, then add it to the emptiness. So
the fallen cutlery speaks in Morse code,
"Save the ship! Let the damned children
As always the ruckus is overem-
bellished by entertainment poachers
with laughter gasps and heart attacks.
The fat man chokes. Beady
eyes bleed for social understanding.
I feel like being hung from trees then
eaten by commercial artists from the
later half of nineteen eighty six. I mean
really, what else is there to do in this
Some friends come and some friends
go. Most friends like to
vomit on you. I escape in a
cigarette like the poor slob who
collects brown paper sacs from liquor
stores to win the queen mother's sympathy.
"There are none taxed in
Greenwich Village," speaks a purple
heart, "you know you're killing yourself,
I look about the ugliness. A couple
stumbles out, adding to the beauty. It
is another empty night out with me (the
one hardly in reserve to warm the benches),
and it's time for the next pot of coffee.
This is the best. Better than anything
less or more. Mediocrity is key, as
I watch the headlights pass away in the
rain like capsized sarcophagi built for two.