long corner line

i'd rip glass from the ceiling before i'd cut my own hand
in the afternoon
but in the morning, o morning!
give me a pepsi
three free hours in a drowned housecoat
and never, never echo the dog's riposte
with my mouth clamped on that
curtain rod
just twisting around
how'd the interview go?
in the afternoon
we got ripped off actually
on the way to the matinee
burning hole after hole in the backs of the seats
at the theatre
where they said free popcorn
but nothing with that much chemical goo on it
could possibly be free
so i wait around a while
in the afternoon to see my favorite beardo
doing hula under the pale lamp light
that we pay for with financial ambiguity
and a food-based guarantee of intimacy to come
i have to wonder
in the afternoon
if i kept up a better log of the meals
would i remember our life together with
a sense of richness
or enhanced depths of pleasure?
im nervy right now
burning little tiny holes in my socks to free myself
arguing that this or that that is a start,
and there is some kind of sense in putting it on paper