The military industrial complex grins its evil grin.
Having cagily plotted to kill me in a conspiracy
so nefarious, I wake up fluttery-eyed.
So diabolical, that even my paranoia died.
Somewhere in my DNA. Trapped,
Like a vicious sliver of transparent candy
between two shiny-white American teeth,
my predilection for high blood pressure plots.
Hiding everywhere there’s salt.
Realer than any rumor about God.
Concrete longing. Addiction. Bitter.
Ten times harsher than my wife’s tongue.
Salt. You fucker.
Didn’t consider it ever, till I’ve been forced to do without.
Nothing to look forward to but fruit and vegetables.
Compote, slushies, taking a good shit and death.
High Blood Pressure, baby.
It’s killed more Yids than Zyklon B.
Tonight I think I’ll live dangerous. Eat some pizza..
It’ll be better than sky-diving or shtupping a skanky whore’s ass bareback.