#17

Jordan's Misogyny

Can you hear the sound of the bitches
screaming? They know I'm coming for them.
They know I'm going to shoot them in the tit.

A bird perched on a windowsill explodes in
blood. There is an old woman crying in the corner
of her apartment complex. In a prison a man
tattoos his body and fondly dreams a rough
tapestry of violence. It is an uncomfortable
ballet. It is unwatchable but the television
picks up the feed, unscrambled, staring
across the level plane of the remote control.
And it is your decision. It is a wheel where
everything moves too fast to make sense.

I don't like what this does to you. You
just ran over a cop.

No. I just ran over two cops. Oh shit,
I blew up two cop cars. Better get
an ambulance.

A park, a parkway, a highway, the streets,
the REAL streets, flow blood from their mouths.
Kubrick's copper water passing over a jury
of our peers. A silence covered over by cellphone
chatter. A meaningless bunch of words scrawled
on a subway, in a Subway. I should've been a
sandwich artist. Nothing covers regret like more
money for a charitable donation. Which battered
women's shelter do I help first? Which last?
Wall after wall of concern over humans who
keep finding an awful way.

It's just like real life. Wait, this is real life
again, right?