I have Way to Fucking Much Work To Do

I have way to fucking
much work to do this
god damned horrid night

the rafters breeze,
the computers wheeze,
the paper's out of sight.

stacks to high they
make me kill they
eat comet shoes farfle
Brunswick daddy-o

and after that's over,
I sigh and roll over,
But more work to turn over
the sun spins my fro

shiny shiny pencil
poke out your brain
too much CS drives good student insane-
good is an acronym, symbolically wise,
for eating blue antelope crusty paste flies

Absentee, vitamin C,
none today, you poor park
writhing hassled undone
power cord number 1
slice! dice! "ain't this fun?"
Have to be, or it won't run!

Compile? Fear not!
This programmer's hot!
Hit stroked beguiled, tender tot or little child,
to the stacks, rafters, wild
breezes Brunswick sight filed
(cabinets won't work,
not a lot, nor mild)

SPins fro under dog,
sick pulling after cog,
slack! slack! slack! FUCKERS! TAKE THIS!
(shattering noise)
A pig or a hog?
But never mind the roses, cold darts, morning fog,
slimy tea pallid sunshine six-a.m.-bog, pulling slowly past the kitchen,
wander school halls of piss- the fuckers TAKE THIS! (shattering noise again)
And invariably

Brittle sin, steaming brim,
pour my mouth filters in
past the stomach, gather woes,
growing blind within my toes,
build and bundle, stretch and seek,
puddles ears begin to reek
(It'll stink like this for weeks)
UNtil the heat rends SHRIEK!!

God damn horrid night,
too much work, outta sight,
rafters re-align opinions, holes close, ears-
pan to my right.

Too much fucking work
but I turn off the light


By Garote, 4/96