Philadelphia

I came home to the nowhere sun in the back of the barn.  I was staring at myself, looking hard to try and find a purpose in shoveling.  There are moveable items and I'm talking about variants of people so don't get freaked out.  I care too much.

I like to think about car accidents on rain shot streets.  I'm really mean so I resign myself to the trash can where i think someone made of stone belongs.  Looking in the drawers first, i like to suck down the things in the disposable with novelty straws and residue of half-life by the old versions of ourselves.

I'm running now due to misevaluation at the coal yard.  When I looked up, everyone was staring back at me like I was a ghost or a child or the ghost of a child.  What can one really do at the back of the bar anyway.  My trash can hole with all my straws seems more comfortable than the invite.

I'm starting to realize that I'm really a lot worse than I thought.  My robot mouth connected to my robot heart sings praise for my robot brain.  Good God--------if holidays were people I'd break down crying by the pond where i found myself for the first time.  I'm missing M & D and candy bars in the night when i wasn't supposed to.

When i see children it upsets me.  It's like holding up a sign for the wrong team at the wrong game----like a fraud.  Ya know?