Headache

Junky bagels, steam and the Brooklyn 82 bus from Stillwell and Bay Parkway, can you ever recover what you’ve lost as the busses’ sweet heat roasts your ass on the back seat, the judgment seat, your countenance is disturbed as last night’s headache and the gnaw is still there and the Bensonhurst uselessness is still there and the marvel at your church is still there and the trailers at the Forest Hills UA Midway at 108-22 Queens Boulevard, like shards from Saturday night, make you get misty because you still believe in the most powerful of all the plastic arts, combined in conjunction could be what you may or may not have been gently placed here to do, because teaching is just a job that you’ve obviously fucked up, again, but when the Truth is seen, Surrender more and help God’s kids, it gets clearer for how you have to perceive it, sweet serpentine streets and a cinema at Ocean Pkwy and you just want to see Superman projected and it could be the worst theater in the world and the message would be the same: WWSD? He would jump out the plane, we would steam his vegetables, he would help his kids, from this planet and any others, he would show you the door, he would teach you how to write like he does, because how selfish is that? To not freely give away what is so magically easy for you? 1980’s Ms. Pac Man cellphone sounds, the Q Train and mad yarmulkes, high stakes state exams and saucy shorts, filled with hot ass juice, not even knowing what the plan is or what the planet needs, just wanting this headache to go away.