The Great Big Jell-O

Get a grip on how short, how short life is, blip switch over, what did you do?  What did you choose in the rental car lineup?  What art did you make?  What love did you share?  List off the hearts you bled inside.  What did you contribute to the great big Jell-O?  What insignificant worm wiggle did you accomplish?  What was the tint on the glaze of the pottery or the curvature of an asshole widening daily to show up at a job and have the itch to pay rent cram in commentary from the consumer hoard to dictate the angle of your back the glisten on your smile to sell that bagel?  How did you alter the pitch in your voice to appear sexier or less threatening or bear-like to fettle with copulation?  How much did you want to end the scoop, to pull you out the batter and be a headlight?  How much did you want another headlight to stare you down on the highway and bet the flinch?  Did you rev the engine and take or spit the pill?  Did you celebrate another birthday believing special or sugar or flame as if you were more alive remembering exiting the cunt?  Are you helpless, stupid; are you at the wheel?  Where are your hands?  Does the idea of over excite you; the end of minute oblivion swallow?  Do you want to eat chaos and marshmallow ghost peppers and paint your face red and pound a kettle drum in a parade?  Do you want the neighborhood to hear stumbling out linens and socked toes starting fist fights in their watered lawns about who is drumming?  Asking who is drumming and you hide in plain sight pounding and pounding until the neighbors eat each other canine-like and ravenous about suing each other’s home owner’s insurance with baseball bats?  Do you want to penetrate her body making her cum over and over again and rampage through her cumming three times without pause just to make you cum once; just to force the plumbing to explode, because she does not know how to deal with a body so unrepentantly alive?  Her eyes roll back in her skull shaking, fumbling to be in her body and all you have are grunts to give her.  Words are amalgamations of culture or surface or evolution and you have devolved into this organism.  You are part of the great vast blob pulverizing each other's flesh so that neither of you can exist.  That is all you do; the drugs, the violence, the anarchism aren’t real, only this how you got here the sex and the portal of one being unlocking another and another like some never ending Russian Matryoshka nesting doll; only consciousness of using each other's bodies like locks keying dehumanizing until you can exist beyond it.  You can end the theater and the flopping fish on the deck and hum, shake, jiggle, aware of something else entirely.