The Shine Journal

  Things to do in the Mall

 

 

Tell them it’s all a lie.

No one can put happiness in a bottle

that you can spray on your shoulder.

And you can sharpen your keys all you want

the woman with the come hither look

is never going to ask you to come thither.

Sit on a bench, beside the umbrella plants

take off your clothes, pretend to ferociousness,

spit at the security.

(Make them feel they are earning their minimum wage).

Pinch the screaming infants and toddlers

(give them something to really holler about).

Avoid eye contact with people you met one once upon a time

five minutes.  Drunk.  At a party.  Can’t remember your name.

Slice a knife across your palm.

Flick the blood at passerbys.

Give them something real.  Something not a lie.

 

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Reasons Not to Bathe

 

 

Because the ripe stench

would go in and out like the waves of the tide.

Because my armpits would be like the rainforests

the life-giving mists raise and fall

on the grateful ecosystems of height and levels.

Across the bare desert of my back

would progress dust mites and happy infestations.

I would glory in my odour-like a handshake

or a firm and friendly slap on the back.

People would stand beside me, shamed and say nothing.

My fragrance would surround me, go before me-

I like a universe, I containing untold millions, thousands.

With the money I collect, having been liberated from the tyranny

of lighter than air bubbles, lilac bathing salts

I could donate to earnest campaigns to eradicate uncleanliness.

Then I could shed clothes, telephone bills, obligation and burden

and unchain my primal self.  My rage of stench

would be another stage in the evolution of man

from frightened ape into fearless stink cloud.

I would be an angler-fish man.

Food and good things would flow into my maw.

In sum-Homo Tempus Novus.

 

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Twelve Things to Buy with My Last Twenty Bucks

 

 

 

A boomerang so I can commit suicide creatively.

Cheap alcohol so I don’t care or know I’m broke.

A Halloween mask so no one catches on that the smelly, bloody pulp is me.

A copy of Remembrances of Things Past (see point number two).

A used magic eight ball to get myself out of this mess.

A very small, undemanding dog.  For company.

An atlas, full of places I’m not going to.

A sprig of hemlock, but with my luck, I suppose it’s out of season.

A ticket for an exhibition of sharp, and deadly weapons.

A discounted blow job from a syphilitic whore.

A spoon, because you never know when someone is going to offer soup.

A pencil, to write a newer, better me.

 

 

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My Bio: Mr. Leverton is an English as a Second Language Teacher. He is originally from Canada, but now lives in Poland with his wife and soon to be daughter. He has been published a few times, and at one time had a serious ambition to be a poet. Now he considers his poems like Bonsai which he would like to share with those who appreciate the art of his Bonsai.

My Motivation Work:

Things to do in the mall: I spend alot of time in the mall, just reading, sometimes eating lunch. I've noticed that people at the mall don't really notice each other, they're not authentic. It's like being at the dentist's.

Reasons not to bathe: I do bathe, but I can imagine for some people refusing to bathe is a rebellion against the 'prettifying tendency' in our culture. I mean, people are now genuininely disgusted by the smell of sweat, and would prefer to smell like a car air freshener.

Twelve things to buy with my last twenty bucks: I have enough money now, but when I was younger I never had enough. I would make lists like this, this is just a morbid version