Here on the beach, the garbageis all spruced up, holy crap look at those crocodiles!We at pizza from a box,whittled cheesespulled hotand long. Hey! I am eating my skin,whatever.I was in with the flies while,carrying a docket of chairs,you did everything you could to complicate.What? Nothing.Whatever.To the left,others impressed with my t-shirtwhich,dude-bound, fellin to the sea.I menace them, having wrestled a goosedown to its pillowonce.Whatever.I think of my neighbors in the apartment building,they may be a family of goats.Will they take the room downstairs.Shut the hell upwont you?Look at those sexy people and their cooler.Hey, you're cardboard cutoutsare divine?Whatever.There is nothing in those hats,only sun-poisoningand laughterwhateveryou are disposed to.I can barely fit intomy mind'sbikini.The Greeks taught meto wax my brain hairs,whatever.I'll trim my clothes-lines downwith a battalion of shavers.All this spastic geography,pro forma beach, my body'slittle hairs,crumbling gulls and whatnot,whatever.Give it up, gulls, there is no pizza-box!The peoples don't want.Whatever.
"Birds, Whatever" by Jay Snodgrass