SPUN OUT OF
Control—I say, in a library parking lot with an old couple walking to their car and talking about tree surgeons, that I would like to see America fall. You say you’d like to see America be great again. Tennis, no love. A cop comes.
At the police station, I’m turned over to the FBI, the CIA, the ABC, the 123. Stern people ask about my opinion of One Life To Live—do I prefer it when Karen was cheating on Larry Wolek or now when gay characters marry. Larry wouldn’t like that. I figure it’s best to have no opinion, to wrap any view I have in old newspaper and hope fish sellers can peddle it.
“Do you truly love America ?” some former pop star asks while looking in a mirror.
“Yes,” I blurt, hoping door number three will open and my dream kitchen appears.
Jail. Distance. No letters in or out. Duct tape on my lips and genitals. Maybe I got my wish— America did fall. Hard. And in its place? A commercial. Cialis. Swiffers.
Tunneling to the Center of the Earth