Brian Hillery is a bearded con-artist, who is tragically in love with his wife, Jessica Warning. She does not wear a beard, however is most certainly a con-artist of equal prowess.
The shadows dancing on my bedroom wall resemble baby fetuses
Gesturing and nodding drunkenly,
Agreeing with one another vigorously, and so I wonder,
What the fuck could they be discussing at this hour of the night?
Probably one hot button issue or another,
Whether or not to support Barack’s candidacy, even though he’s quite cute
But not as cute as they are, or at least will be
If jowly ol’ Scalia has his day in court.
Their little mandibles gnash about, hooked, limp wrist-ed
Rocking fore and aft, begging to be held and nursed and cooed.
Well I don’t have time for this, busy busy busy! Sleepy sleepy sleepy!
No time to coddle you, half-formed tree baby. Go back outside!
Then I feel guilty, because that’s how they eventually catch up with you,
Pin you under, scratch at your eyes and arms,
Puckered milk-pink faces with zigzag blue veins tearing across
Translucent eye sockets, exposed brains practically, I mean ugh!
It’s through this guilt, always playing the victim.
Soon enough they’re peering at you from over the edge of your bed
All you see are those coal black sockets and burnt light-socket hair
Nasty white grins where fat aping lips once were.
Hardness or softness, I don’t know if it matters anymore.