In Poems & Fiction



How does one build a robot snake, like the Little Mermaid, but with different kinds of scales, and a tail with a rattle?  I’ve studied elastic statues, and I can assure you, skin is of no use. I want to lie down, like a prairie, in low, flat, sleep, my eyes relics of rain.  I can’t be certain if these words are eroticized upholstery or upholstered eroticism?  Despite all this anti-gravity, it occurs to me that I’ll probably never record a dance album.  Like a bug on its back, I just can’t seem to get any traction.  Guess what.  The sky learns to be blue.  Like skywriting, it takes a lot practice, and no clouds.  You may ask, “What readies us for living?”  One-third of suicides don’t leave a note. Illiteracy remains a huge problem in the world today.  The anger of misunderstood alphabets, like raging houses, their roofs fuming in the blue air, lawns crackling like a fireplace.  They say a certain party has flammable parents. But then, they say a lot of things.  Don’t you think noisy weather makes perfect background music.  Especially lightning. As you leave, please, don’t forget to turn off the stove, lock the front door, bring the matches.


Appeared in Pink X-Ray

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