A Journal Of Finding Poetry In The Garbage

Garbagelogy Origins

The world moves under me. In minutes, I’m in Amsterdam, China, Italy, Ireland, Puerto Rico, The Ukraine, and The Middle East and on and on. The night is beginning its eternal run. With a mere thought, I crush everything in a universe that Albert Einstein believed wastes nothing. I waved my hand and an iron container is lifted into the air. It dumps garbage as hydraulics hiss like serpents in heat. In the bright lights of limo cars, I hurl dozens of heavy black bags non-stop into the seemingly bottomless hole of a waste disposal truck. “I admire your work ethic,” said a retired police officer working security at Spice Market where attractive waitresses dream of becoming stars in The City of Angels. I pull back my hood and smile at the evening over the Hudson River. After all this time, it’s good to be back on Earth. There’s so much work to be done. I look at the cop and realized we have something in common. “What’s that?” he asked.

We both take out the trash.

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WEREWOLVES!!!

In The Beginning was Word95 and books from the 1950s, both saved from the recycling plant to help me get back my memories damaged in an attack in 1993. Like an illegal alien, I worked off and on a garbage truck. I made 100 dollars a day before it was cut in half. On the average, I only worked two days out of the month. It was better than nothing. After being jobless for years, I want to repay New York and the world now that I have regained my transdimensional imagination among my other super powers.And living well is the best revenge.