Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Good Morning

I woke up foggy and groggy unable to get it right, wishing I couldn't see the light.
It's familiar now, the morning and all it noises.
The cough from the night before, the creeks in our bedroom floor and the leftover bits of dream rattling about in my head.
Good Morning America.
Morning in America.
Toilets flushing, teeth brushing and Mickey Mouse selling children ideals and dreams and crap they never knew they wanted.
The cabinets are full of commercials and we are what we eat.
We are the plots in our porn, Tony Little's ponytail and the tackiest, goddamn turquoise ring on QVC.
We are over sized portions on a big white plate.
We are Jarrad.
We are as real as the editors allow with scraps of life on the cutting room floor.
We are just a prettied up whore.
Yes, Good Morning America all hungover and disheveled,
Scrounging about for your panties wondering where the taste in your mouth came from, playing dumb (as if we don't remember).
Blacking out everything but our justification.
Our Justice
Whatever the fuck that is.
Wherever the fuck that is.
It is in the falling suits and their parachutes, the middle eastern sand squeezed in God's right hand.
It is constant and eternal and everything in between.
It is whatever you need it to mean.
Good morning America.
America the machine.

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