Bedbugs XLVI

Bedbugs XLVI

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Click here for last week's Bedbugs.


Too many helpless and hopeless gathered around a plastic symbol
gilded with fake gold that they were told was important; the head
admirer was wrenched out of the muscle portion of his leg
in the process of wasting time in thinking it was vital
or even real. When he gets back home he'll make sure
his housemates know their place and sewn lips shut,
as not to cause dissent in the color of the texture
of whatever you're thinking. Who said you could think
it out of your system? Riots of ideas will bring the suburban
malaise, the deadliest of viruses, into your mind and
bank account. No matter which type dialogue
between you and the color. Inside the best kinds of
circuitry, you still have to face up the repeated
tally of oak's knowing glances from across a space
consisting of air, dead ideas and intentions gone
sour because you left them out in the heat.
Sit down and answer the question, please, before
you fall down. I'm even stuck in a loop of rebellion
against supposed smothering authorities; is that a
type of trap? My body buys a paper on 18th street,
snapping back to the agreed-upon slightly grimy
universe of here and now. I should be somewhere else.
Repeating what you just said.



Next week's seven phrases/groups of words:



-bright red patch of skin
-no more patterns resembling insects
-thirty-seven repeated in each room
-scrawled in an expensive tome
-wasting waste and timing time
-nobody reads it so why spend so long
-professional victims need not apply


-Adam