Carlo Parcelli

DECONSTRUCTING THE DEMIURGE:

"The Gilded Index of Far-Reaching Ruin"

At 64

Even at 64 I’m learning new things.
              I’ve learned that there’s a pocket of flesh just below my taint that collects shit
And then all day long oozes it out into my boxers.
              I’ve learned that if I go down on my landlady 
                       She knocks $35.00 off my board 
But for a straight fuck its only ten.
              I’ve learned that the pack of little shitheads 
That for the past five years have drunk forties and smoked chronic 
                       On my front stoop are either dead
              Or big enough to beat the shit out of me.
I’ve learned that at 64 it takes longer for a broken femur and busted jaw to heal.
                       I’ve learned that at 64 a 6’5” 300 pound man with a club foot, diabetes and 
              A wired jaw is no longer intimidating. 
        At 64 I’ve learned that if I apply the Second Law of Thermodynamics to poker
My disability check dissipates at the same rate.
              At 64 I’ve learned the hard way that drinking is hard on my liver.
I’ve learned that a fucked up liver is in direct proportion
                To the financial investment made in the quality of its agent
                        Times the quantity imbibed.
I’ve learned that my current diet of cold beans, fried bread and fatback causes flatulence 
                 And has cost me my ride to the track.
I’ve learned that the best turf minds of my generation
                        Can blow their entire disability check on a 60 to 1 shot.
At 64 I’ve realized that the women stopped cooing “Hey, big boy”
                  About 20 years ago.
At 64 I’ve learned you can’t get squat for combat medals on Ebay
                        Except from slackers who use them to get laid.
                 At 64 I’ve learned that the free drinks and pussy 
That used to come along with the Silver Star have long expired.
                        I’ve learned that today’s shorties are so ahistorical 
That if my 25 year old wears some Banana Republic fatigues 
                 And my VSM they’ll lay some combat chickenhead on him.
I’ve learned the time chicks give you is in direct proportion 
                        To how old, fat, ugly and poor you are—
         So I get Gitmoed.
                         I realize I haven’t fucked a woman under 50 
         Since the first Gulf War.
At 64 I’ve realize its better to think about what’s possible 
                        Even if you draw a blank.
At 64 I’ve realized that 4 pounds of ham, 2 pounds of salami,
         2 pounds of gabagool, 5 pounds of baloney, 3 pounds of olive loaf, 
                        A pound of provolone, 3 pounds of American, two buckets of chicken,
Four loaves of white bread and six cases of Red Dog 
                        Are not enough for 36 hours of draw poker.
I’ve learned that if you crack the door a little too much, 
                        The pizza delivery guy will ask to sit in on a couple of hands
And promptly draw to the inside straight
                               And fuck up your economics for a month.  
          At 64 I’ve learned that if you stand up at the community meet and greet
And call the CEO of the power company
          A lying, thieving motherfucker and wave a log of blackouts,
                         Their lawyers will send you threatening letters,
Some outsource shithead will ring you up at dinner time;
          A company man will interrupt your nap on a Sunday 
                         Demanding you turn over company property,
Anything but fix the goddamn grid.  
          At 64 I realize that shit or get off the pot 
                          Is no longer an either or proposition.
At 64 I’ve learned that daily living
                   Is a ritual.  
At 64 I’ve learned I have to perfectly position myself on the edge of the bed 
                           To pull on my socks.
At 64, I’ve got to remember to spit in an arc.
           I’ve got to remember to piss at a 45 degree angle. 
I’ve learned that if I don’t want to shatter some dainty little thing like a tea cup
                           I’ve got to fuck in the pushup up position
           Or let her bob around on top.  
At 64 I’ve learned that books nowadays want to be judged by their covers.
                   At 64 I’ve learned they can fuck up the schools and jobs 
Faster than I can throw away the draft registration applications at the Post Office 
                           Or buttonhole kids outside the enlistment center.
At 64 I realize the cats that tossed me out the do-wop group were right—
                    All my original tunes sound like third rate Al Greene.
At 64 my performance venues have shrunk to the Rest Easy Nursing Home
                            And the First Baptist Church of Zion Saturday Night Mixers.
At 64 I’ve learned that the cat living in 4B is a Serb and not a Russki
                           And it don’t make a damn bit of difference
Except now I know why he ain’t shit at chess. 
                   At 64 I learned that one of my granddaughters was on Rock of Love---
            And won.
I learned that my parole officer had a sex change on the GI Bill 
                           And now dates a prison guard.
At 64 I’ve learned that catallaxy means a "self-organizing system 
             Of voluntary co-operation," not a Cadillac chopped with a Ford Galaxy.
At 64 I’ve learned that between the peak immigration years of 1880 and 1910,
             The Brooklyn Bridge was sold some 40,000 times.
At 64 I’ve learned that I can no longer eat my weight in cheese doodles
             And hope to shit before the Chinese New Year.
At 64 I celebrate the Assyrian New Year, the Sikh New Year, the Korean New Year,
             The Tamil New Year, Diwali--- 
                   All them motherfuckers, so I can have an excuse to stay drunk
                          Other than the obvious ones.
At 64 I realize I’ve never had a stake in anything
             Even though all my life I’ve been a hypocrite and a dirty dog
                    Just like my betters.
At 64 I realize that if you believe the worst about the United States
             It gives you tremendous predictive powers
At 64 I realize I’ve had just enough distractions to make me a coward.
             That the only way to stop these motherfuckers that was born on third base
But thinks they hit a triple is to block home plate 
             Brandishing a thirty-eight.
At 64 I’ve realized that if you surf the internet from a public library 
                     For recipes for ANFO
And the floor plan to the Executive Office building,
             You’ll get a visit from two completely humorless Mormon fucks from the FBI.
At 64 I’m resigned to my bitter impotence. 
             At 64 I sputter with exasperation 
                     But my sticks and stones are left untouched.
At 64 I realize that the bottle was the way I filibustered my rashness.
             At 64 I realize I don’t give a shit about 65 anymore than I did 63.
At 64 my dream is to be ridiculed
             By a better class of academic stooge.
At 64 I reckon I’ll leave my body of work like a smoking, radioactive turd
                       And not clean it up.