the riot act

Riotous living leads to
the pious use of the fruits
of your loving labours.

For instance.

If you were to acquire,
through the loot, a tire,
would its treads speed to
death in a dire spread of
headlong abandon?

No. Your command of the wheel
would be austere. Messers
Yin and Yang seek balance
in all things.

You see?

Anyway, that's what I think.

I tested this conviction with
a berserk raid on my neighbours'
carefully tended boutiques.
Two by four clenched, I burst glass
and fucked boxes of branded items
with my splintery phallus.

I acquired the following status symbols:

- seafood
- some lichen
- a weasel
- barbituates
- aerial photographs of your splayed buttocks

I pocketed these pricey commodities:

- a mustachioed biomedical technician
- your mother's hopes and dreams
- the blame for 9/11
- the moon
- the man in the moon

I snatched the crumbling remains of impulse buys:

- the delicate skeleton of a 19th century narwhale
- the attitude of a lothario
- a number two pencil
- some well-rounded pebbles from a nude beach in Vietnam
- a rubber

And then I dashed home, my embrace
smothering and choking my treasures.
I stroked them like a rabid lover. My pleasure
fevered with jealousy and suspicion.

If you take them, I'll lunge at you
and dine on the fine membrane of your lungs.

And that's my story.

This experiment was so successful!
This hypothesis so worthwhile!
You bred such sound observation.
You concluded with such style!

I applaud your noble work.
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