But Before We Get to That!

I just have to share this poem based on a fucked up dream I had the Monday night. Now, as a qualifying statement, I don’t dislike Brad Pitt. I like a lot of his movies. I think his wife is a putrid alien skeleton in disguise as a fake pair of lips and tits, but that has nothing to do with this dream or poem.

 

I Killed Brad Pitt in My Sleep Last Night

{12.14.10}

I killed Brad Pitt

in my sleep last night

the violence so brutal

it far surpassed any of his films

Fight Club looks like playing in the sandbox

compared to this.

he came at me at first

in his Twelve Monkeys manifestation:

middle fingers flying every which a way

a crazed look in his crooked eye

I wrestled him down, grabbing an errant punch

twisting his arm, gunning for ripped elbow ligaments

but he was too strong

we met the floor with a thud

and, grabbing a serrated knife, I drove it

into his sternum.

I thought I’d had him

but was wrong

as he was quickly up and punching me

repeatedly in the face

my nose cracking and crumbling

beneath his swelling, blood-covered knuckles

I grabbed for something that

morphed into a wooden billy club

the first blow, glancing off his forehead

echoed with that wooden ‘tonk!’

so familiar to baseball fans

amidst a flurry of his hands, I kept

hammering down on his head, which

was now shaved and menacing

like the later scenes in Fight Club

a few more blows and his head

was bulging, splitting open and

spewing forth a crimson torrent.

And then all went calm

as I stood over him, apparently

lifeless, if not just unconscious

my chest heaving with the massive effort

but even more with the excitement

of the unleashing, the little beast in me

dancing at a newfound freedom

to run around unfettered

 

then he was up so quickly, a ninja would

concede supremacy, and was dragging

me over a gravel drive

somehow I got loose, or he left me for a moment

to go find some torturous tool

yet, I beat him to the punch

lucidly willing a high-powered,

brushed steel sniper rifle

into my hands

I drew back the bolt-action slide

appeared a bullet in the chamber

rolled over just in time to

see his wholly surprised visage

adorned in the sandy blonde locks

of Legends of the Fall

and I swiftly blew the back of his pretty head

clean off.

Believe me, it’s a strange way to wake up.

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