With all of us menaces there is a Secret.
What the fuck, that’s the Secret.
It’s impossible to NOT GIVE A FUCK!
Even if we are killing. It has to be 100+ %.

It’s Surrender. That’s the problem. That’s always the PROBLEM!
With surrender, there is ALWAYS DEATH!
It’s impossible to not FEEL DEATH!

I’d rather steal the keys to my dad’s car.
I’d rather start a fire.
I’d rather steal. Cheat. Hustle.
Wriggle with a wiggly word puzzle.

Boredom. I’d rather cheat than hustle.

If only they had not sold the River. The Lobster told us. They wouldn’t listen. Now, a container factory is there. That’s all.

—

Death leans back.
You can’t escape.
I’ve got you on CCTV.
All these little windows.
Each one, a man. Puzzling.

His days seem so short.
I wish he knew how much we MISS HIM.

—

The frantic RUSH! I can’t stop. If I don’t champion her pussy.
The sweat trickles down his front.
His white sport socks, green and red hoops.
He can’t stop thinking of Lobsters.
His dad. The priest.
All they ever did, fill him with DOUBT.

__

Death, slowly flicks the kill switch.
Powers down the monitors.
Takes a long slow pull on his cigar.
Easy tiger. 20 a day.

He’s been sat in his booth 24 hours. Needs a cold shower. He’s not the rabble rouser. More a slow plodder. The Policeman of the Docks. Always, white socks.

__