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Heavy Baggage

A fat man watchin' TV / Alone guzzles a beer scannin' / sports, 'toons, porn, an' other stuff. / Jammin' his hand down a Dorito bag stuck between his legs, / he crushes it, lickin' the salt off his greasy fingertips, / wipin' them on his XXX "T".

Nuthin' Doin' he thinks, rippin' farts / signaling self-content Deceptively the way / Bluster Evidences Threat.

then, somewhere just past disgust with himself and TV / but shy of resignation Bullwinkle Screams / Rocky! I think we're LOST!!

AMBUSHED by / hard-nippled girls flashing him smiles and gold medals draping his neck / he doesn't hear the alarm / now fragile prey, now seized by another reverie.

I Explode out. BAM! / Fast, smooth. A Fuckin' Shark! the turn. I see it! / OK. KICK! GO! GO! BAM! / Yeah! the Fuckin' shark wins AGAIN!!

Who Sponsors these reflexive gasps? / These ONE-TRICK PONIES? / (such lucious Bait inciting ill-fitted yearnings)

I have to figure it all out, he thinks - / the subtleties of racing down lanes,


I'll hang out at bars making lots of new friends. / that's where the answers are hidden,
where the tricks are an old dog can learn.

Regretting his puff pastry body, he squirms with frustration at seeing / the teeming highway but finding / NO RAMP UP.

Ribbons of thigh and belly skin squeak against the naugahyde / voicing RESISTANCE to any RESETTLEMENT.

for a moment he stops breathing / as if punctuating an end to his reverie, / HOSTAGE to his PAST until it's done.

on exhaling he sobs unexpectedly, the way mourners often do.