overnight-poop

It’s not the poetry, it’s that someone is writing it. There is a magic in the apparent futility of the endeavors, of the ambition.

These words are shit.

I want to read something that doesn’t feel like work that doesn’t feel cheap that soothes that relates that levitates.

There is cat shit in a box of sand over there.

At the UPS store people come in every day with boxes of shit.

Literally which is the opposite of figuratively.

And you know they are boxes of shit because they are white and blue cubes that say…

what the fuck do they say? It isn’t Cologuard the company that receives the shit boxes.

Exact Sciences, that’s what they say at least in June of Twenty-twenty-six.

And someone comes in and hands you a box of shit that says UPS Next Day Air and neither of you discuss the contents, ever.

Do they know you know what’s in it? Do they care? Do you care?

Reading some shit that ends the pain would be or at least feel really good tonight.

Something that eases the blackish hole, the dogless void and it probably isn’t about ratios and proportions and the relationship between a radius and circumference or the fraction 248 divided by 81 which was known to the Egyptians four thousand years ago and isn’t too far off from Pi.

Then again maybe it is. Something that sponges longing.

Void divided by axioms equals something or soothing or sleep.

Gigged at Betty’s tonight with Cookie’s and Cake and a vagabond called Crunk Witch who sings really well. Cookie’s and Cake sounded great. Their same old songs hold up. Good shit.

Rivka skipped the gig because of school work they are getting their Florida cosmetology license: mastery of decorating the human body.

Rinah is too. And Ashirah did a dance recital tonight with the Emerald Coast Dance Conservatory or E, C, D, C. Not to be confused with AC/DC.

Ramani is working at Everman, often with uninspiring rednecks under whom she is ordered to throw perfectly good organic food into a dumpster and if she wants to bring some home to eat, purchase its counterparts.

Like she and Miguel, Rivka and I are still on our first marriages.

A woman at UPS today said, stay in it, man, I’m single and it sucks out here.

Over there in the corner is a box with sand and cat shit in it. Four boxes to be exact. Four to the power of negative one is equivalent to one divided by four to the power of one which is four so four litter boxes to the power of negative one is one divided by four is a quarter of a litter box. It’s the reciprocal.

G’d night.

4/06/2026