Marmots, Radioactive

The air in here is awful.
My skin still feels like fetid cheese.
They ate my chickens.
But why?

Cats akimbo.
Bambo mothers floating in concentric circles.
Low rent paranoia. Just give it up already.

Move over rover, don't blow my cover.
Only three days to go, now.

Sweet, black coffee and dexadrine.
Damned teens on the loose.
Stolen bicycles and the many sweaty bankers of that old brown town
on some square run about.

Just give it up already.
My right sinus is spent.
Fear of needles.
I'll call my inner dealer.
Not to worry.

So you invented a machine
to suck your own head off?
Put it to good use.
Destroy the Pope
and have some of these
various colors.

We'll lick at my eyebrows in the hot room.
Doubled potency,
thanks to a big news day.
Not to worry,
I'm a total professional.
Mature through to dawn.

So there they are, again
going at Chess, badly.
Sullen and red around the edges.
Why does she always get this way at the end?

Like the naughty kid at new years table.
Petulent mess.
Sulky full fit to squeeze.

'No fault of mine.'
My ole time line.

See you in the morning.
There'll be toast next door
and those lovely mothers.

Take the cure.
Phone it in.

I'll still be up
when this thing cools off.