on carbon and fingernails

REVISED COHERENT

the setting is where i’m sitting and that is in a red chair,it could be green, it might be leather or cloth, there are some shoes around my feet or whatever; i am four floors above something like ants in wool. it’s monday and i return to the toll booth in my 2011 neuron standard. the man who grovels on duty looks a bit like me: stupid, and with facial hair that is thin beneath the jaw, skin showing pink and shaped like Sierra Leone, blood and clouded diamonds wanting my carbon, digging for any allotrope, and with stupid fucking eyes that are too fucking small; he has to squint at me to make sure i’m safe and not drunk but he agrees and allows me to skid across black-top questions, shouting threats at quiet skies, skies with thunder in them, skies that show rabbits in the gallows row. i wander away from the thought at foot with waiting room music in ear, waiting for a representative to pick up the line, and back to: once a letter denied her existence…i didn’t know what to make of that, hurt people hurt people; how long do you hurt? how deep can matrimony’s muted blade cut? how does it hop through time and space like bums grabbing free trolley rides? will it ever dull? fuck it – i’ll file the claim, my address is blah, at blah zip code: blah, yea, yea, yea that’s blah blah blah – a son of a bitch in texas took my card and shot those digits straight to match.com and i can’t yet conclude why i was even born. blah, blah-blah-blah, blah blah i feel like the peanuts parents are shackled in wax and anvil, and i laugh that i’m low enough to distract myself with this phantom view: carbon on snow and ice, carbon manipulating movable display, carbon bitching that the weather doesn’t fit their carbon arms, their carbon noses, their carbon fingers flushed like carbon flushes this carbon forgets the month easy, this carbon consumes the combustible, and willful, this carbon wonders when his carbon will be carried off to some throne of god.