next left

turn off the tv

everything’s loud and my respited need
for silence,
unrequited

turn off the making conversation, for ‘ sake
turn off the need
turn off the blah
turn off the tumult
turn off the neighbour’s children
turn off the lights
turn off the emergency
turn off the city hum
turning over in grey fractalous storm, and over in grey turbulous matter, clouds tumbling over, rolling over, down and over, drenching over, and drenching inside, and
turn off the drenching
turn off the men in the grey suits
turn off the more more more
turn off the you can too
turn off the incessant
turn off the people
turn off the red spot special
turn off the lights
turn off the lights
turn off the lights
turn off the highway,
take the next left, just here, yes, just here

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6 thoughts on “next left

    • ahh Maxine… my voice never sounds like Jack Thompson, and only like Bukowski when I’m sick, and I couldn’t bear to have any other me record these pieces, so alas, we all have to wait until the swine catches up with me….

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