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it thrashes

Red hands quaking. Thoughts boomerang. Pulse? Hummingbird wings. I will bulldoze my television tonight. Bass rumble thunder next door. Jet black pooling ink licks from a classic slow banger, “Killa Kam.” Black city. Yellow house. Is this fiction if I disbelieve reality? Living room walls off white, white blind slats cattywompus. Red banner broadcast. Black block letters imply zero nuance. Barefoot, on the carpet edge, gray sweats, old faded red Arsenal jersey I bought in Liverpool. I dislike the Beatles, I prefer Clapton and Stevie Ray Vaughan. ADHD hyperfocused morning writing, reading, rewriting session, meditation, session corrupted. Unreal news from D.C. The American Confederacy not only lives - it thrashes. Red, blue. Stars and bars. Haywire. I will bulldoze my television tonight if I watch from one fifty eight p.m. until four forty seven a.m. Guess what? This is exactly what I do next. And I write. I must vent, eject, flow. 
Galactic emerald dials. Dashboard flickering. Drive slo

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