"There's not much doubt in any of our minds that no complete idea springs fully formed from our brow,
needing only a handshake and a signature on the contract to send it off into the world to make twenty-five billion dollars.
The germ of the idea grows slowly..." - Walt Kelly

Thursday, April 17, 2014

All part of the job

Day Seventeen: Don't know what this is about.

At the scene of a murder I
cross my I's and dot my T's
and then I can't tell any of them
apart in the report I'm trying
to compose while my idiot partner
mumbles in my ear, his coffee-
breath flowing in the wind like
radioactive isotopes that won't
dissipate for another few half-lives,
something like months or years,
so until then I am writing incorrect
letters on my clipboard and he
is crinkling his nose and saying
something about "symbology"
and then I am not writing at all,
I am picturing Willem Dafoe
standing on a bloodstained, white
wraparound couch, mocking him.

Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Passion Pit, Carried Away

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