you claim that you'll recall halogens after the shock.


between splashes of wine your voice only met a wall.
your mommy hated gays and your daddy hated feminism.
and you buy a new rocking chair every year so you can complain about
the youth rotating the earth right outside the window.


before the treatment they strapped you in a straitjacket,
the millenial bitch advanced medicine you loathe,

so you give it to her straight like a man-
"listen girl, you should lose some weight, you're fat and repulsive."

her office desk is crammed with patients.
her chair is eight years worn.


she decides not to give you sine waves bilaterally.


and so they'll laugh when they fry your brain with electrons-
graybeard slobber on the cusp of your chin, seizing

for an atom of fluorine in a cloud of fog.


and oh yes sir they already know you're such a noble gas,
your valence shell never changes or adapts.


you wake up, finally forgetting where you were,
a lazy old dog discarding its last trick.


he visits the hospital seven to eleven more times hoping
it'll jog his memory, laden and overweight.
Last edited by Dregen at Jan 19, 2017,