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17.5.03
Nobodies Ruin Everything
I don't have the personality for relationships.
I don't have the stomach for climbing higher.
I don't have the legs to get there.
I don't have anything for sale
and I don't have the hands to hold.
Get it?
I'm not interested.
The ceremony was cancelled.
The timeless gets pinned down.
Someone buys a scrapbook and the rest is history.
I don't have to read about it in the periodicals
or rub advertisements against my chest
to get it. It's gone.
I don't have any structure. The difference
between knuckle-dragging and stock-broking
is all in the posture. The rest of me
gets used up in tabloids and gasoline.
When I think I do, I don't.
The distance between good and evil
is measured by the amount
of sweating you do before a security guard.
If you're polite, they'll show you:
it's in the handbook.
I don't have the patience to stitch you back together.
My fingers tremble when I'm not around liquor.
I won't whisper behind your back, or forget.
I don't have enough left.
When I don't, I do. Someone has to make a decision.
I gave up the media for a song and a dance.
The dance was elaborate; broken limb'd,
almost Ukranian. Peasants swooned.
The song proved more difficult. The censors
had a field day picking through my bones:
"See this fibula?..."
I threatened to calm down. If I was
traded in, I'd blame it on the nobodies who ruin everything.
They've been blaming it on me long enough.
7:41 PM
When we woke up in the morning, Anastasia knew she had to get her hair cut. It was beyond repair.
5:24 PM
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