Washington Mutual Is A Bank That Is Everywhere

Tao Lin

I had an urge one hour ago. To write poems
that make no sense, and
I felt happy. Stabbed
by hooded black youth.
Shocked by the willingness of grade-schoolers
to kill me. And eat my heart. The things that do not happen to me
each day. I feel
like shit. My life
is good, fantastic. I am not deformed. Thank you.
There should be something about you
in this poem. But
there is just me, being stupid.
Putting shampoo on things. My roommate’s shampoo. Uncouth. My heart
is a bar of soap. White, flashing. Soap
is clean. Admit it. That it will kill you
if you eat it
probably. I mean, look
at this poem. Where are you. I love life. November. Wonderful. The sun. A cloud
just said something. I don’t know what it said.
I wasn’t paying attention. I don’t care.