Bomb Bologna, Raise the Rent

Carry your nightmares in a wheelbarrow.

Find a place to dump them.

Point out a branch.

Say, “There is the branch.”

Hang something on it.

Hang vampires on it.

Write jokes about America, the sky, a bobby pin.

Cook the flanks.

Take to flies.

Dress like a dinosaur

to celebrate the hugeness of the moment.

Sleep with the radio on.

Learn to talk.

Paw at four or five girls from a corner.

Say something true.

Break someone’s heart.

Draw lightning on your skin.

Draw scarecrows.

Draw blood.

Listen intensely.

Push yourself.

Say, “I have pushed myself and here I am.”

Stand like a tent.

Pull the straps too tight.

Yank out the lazy veins.

Lie about your age.

Bomb Bologna.

Raise the rent.

Paint white over white.

Put your shoulder into it.

You should be sweating.

You should be filling up the bags.

You should be holding your knees in pain.

Rise up.

Black out.

Screech.

Claw.

Solder cars together.

Laugh indulgently.

Write your name on your machete.

Wake up like a cannon.

Danny Soto is a mother fucker.

SHELFLIFEMAGAZINE : issue #003