Were You Watching That, Helen

 

Were You Watching That, Helen

 

It must’ve been cold in that theater

where Shia LaBeouf watched 72 hours of his own movies

in a row—with his t-shirt under a grey hoody under some

enormous army store jacket eating what appeared to be candy coated

 

cocaine out of a small soda cup and every once in a while

between moments of almost sleeping he cracked a smile

or scratched his nose or threw his hood on and silently farted

Were you watching that, Helen?

 

 

Did you see the medium-close framed selections

of optional human emotions that have been on display here

electronically over the past 3 days?

 

Or were you otherwise occupied

by I don’t know, whatever the fuck it is that otherwise occupies

you these days. How would I know?! Yes. How would I know?

 

I took herbal Viagra last night and my dick stalled straight like it was a Nazi

standing for 3 hours in front of Hitler despite the fact that my dick

is not a Nazi. But you already know that, right? I mean, your vagina

was from Poland. And my dick was on board with that

 

Shia LaBeouf has a facial expression for our situation

I’m not sure if you caught it. It happened around 58 minutes inside

his detached dude re-watching of Holes or was it Disturbia

or that goddamn time he swung through the trees with monkeys

 

like he was purposely trying to destroy the legacy of Indiana Jones

Either way, tonight I’m smoking alone and cooking a pizza

Tonight you’re building your new life on the carcass of our old

 

battle field and tonight Shia LaBeouf’s probably falling asleep

while taking a shit on some pretty chick he met at the movie theater’s

orange toilet. With his mouth filled with forgottenly chewed bologna

because that’s how things roll