Talk Into My Bullet Hole. Tell Me

I Wandered Over Across The Hall Where They Were Showing A Short Movie About Vasectomies. Much Later I Told Her That I'd Actually Gotten A Vasectomy A Long Time Ago, And Somebody Else Must Have Gotten Her Pregnant. I Also Told Her Once That I Had Inoperable Cancer And Would Soon Be Passed Away And Gone, Eternally. But Nothing I Could Think Up, No Matter How Dramatic Or Horrible, Ever Made Her Repent Or Love Me The Way She Had At First, Before She Really Knew Me.

The Movie's Not Over Till Everybody's Dead.

I'll Never Forget You. Your Husband Will Beat You With An Extension Cord And The Bus Will Pull Away Leaving You Standing There In Tears, But You Were My Mother.

And With Each Step My Heart Broke For The Person I Would Never Find, The Person Who'd Love Me. And Then I Would Remember I Had A Wife At Home Who Loved Me, Or Later That My Wife Had Left Me And I Was Terrirfied, Or Again Later That I Had A Beautiful Alcoholic Girlfriend Who Would Make Me Happy Forever. But Every Time I Entered The Place There Were Veiled Faces Promising Everything And Then Clarifying Quickly Into The Dull, The Usual, Looking Up At Me And Making The Same Mistake.

There Were Many Moments In The Vine Like That One--where You Might Think Today Was Yesterday, And Yesterday Was Tomorrow, And So On. Because We All Believed We Were Tragic, And We Drank. We Had That Helpless, Destined Feeling. We Would Die With Handcuffs On. We Would Be Put A Stop To, And It Wouldn't Be Our Fault. So We Imagined. And Yet We Were Always Being Found Innocent For Ridiculous Reasons.