wouldn't it be wonderful if everything was meaningless (pedro's title, bryan's prose)

i spent the afternoon and much of the evening right here

much of the morning too

the sun hid for the better part of a season this midwestern gray with its skies drained like my lungs suffocating with a Camel’s all deliberate speed

but today no, yesterday the sun decided he was tired of suicide notes and came out with guns blazing forcing me to class

to those trite teachers flagrantly approaching godliness to themselves and to the mindless dummies who grasp convictions based on cynicism– like fashion coughing up whatever hasn’t been stated except in the vague references of music and the undercurrents of a popular-by-unpopularity- existential- bullying weak who at first surprise with vocabulary but who still haven’t any idea what the fuck they’re talking about

they’ve found a taste for coffee by day and despondence by night bellowing obscure words like swooning disaster at the end of the bar to the girl with the pink pink skin pink pink skin

legs long as knives in loins dress hiked to the barstool peeking white cotton panties when she laughs, she laughs

what was her name