Debbie Kirk on the Other Side of the
I am the skeleton of Burroughs's bullet
I am the skeleton of Burroughs’s bullet
Some pieces missing
Others not working properly
This old drunk Pollack who lives in the desert
Sent me an email last week that said I was the Sylvia Plath of this generation.
Flattery will get you anywhere anywhere with a girl who's already laying on the ground.
When my skeleton is put back together will you draw a red crayon heart on it?
Last night I smoked way too much weed
And I thought that my best friend JJ was a robot
Sent by RD Armstrong.
His Mission? To get me to commit suicide.
That way he could use every crazy fucking email that he ever got from me
And write a book about me
Make it big time.
Haven’t left my room in a few days
I’ve been pissing in this can in the corner.
Seriously.
Right now I’m listening to “Problem Child” by AC/DC
Thinking about being 13 and listening to this song
On vinyl of course
Over and over
Smoking cigarettes that I stole from my mother’s purse
And every time my grandmother came to visit she would say
“That rock and roll music is nothing but trouble, it will send you straight to hell”
Granny is dead now.
And at her funeral they forgot her lipstick
I think that was the only thing I cried about.
I am the skeleton of Burroughs’s bullet.
I charged out of the chamber
And went for the quick exit
I knew what I was made for
Upon conception
I eat an apple every single day
And it still makes me sad that
Joan went out
The same goddamn way Eve did.
Nailed with an apple by a fruit.
I’m always waiting to fall out of my chair
Or get hit by a train
Or to get struck by lightning
To get possessed by demons
Abducted by aliens
A Mercy Killing
Whatever.
But I wake up
To another day where everything I get near
Shatters into thousands of pieces.
Sometimes too much dope
Can do it to you
Like say, if you stay high for all of the hours that you were awake
Coupled with whatever downers you could get your hands on
So that you wouldn’t have to be awake.
I guess that could be an example of a time
When you might be inclined to think your friends are robots.
I am the skeleton of Burroughs bullet
Going so fast I can’t see straight
These other fucking humans
I just can’t take them anymore
I am the skeleton of Burroughs’s bullet
I was tucked in his pants
While he was in Mexico
Taking it up the ass
Because the needle
No longer put them all to sleep
They are restless
They are many
They look a lot like the ones I see
In my wrinkled brow
On the days that
I ride a Delorian into my future.
© Copyright Debbie Kirk 2005