In Poems & Fiction, Publications

Yes, sometimes the cars laugh at me, even the taxis. Mitzi thinks it’s because I’m too short to be smart, which gives me a sinking feeling that in my next life, I’m going to be a toy boat. You know what they say: the past hasn’t ended; it just takes a long time to catch up. Even in this dark, I can hear the mute flowers drowning in their blue loneliness. A thousand gallons of silence. As we exit the dark eye of the tunnel, I tell Mitzi, next week, sure as bullet, I’m going to enroll in an on-line magic class. Then I close my eyes and listen to the wild animals of my next ideas. Mitzi says, That’s great Miles, but let’s keep both hands on the steering wheel. By next week, we both might be dead, and we wouldn’t want to spoil the forensic evidence. Mitzi’s as optimistic as a first aid kit in a funeral home. Although the exact cause remains unknown, she’s a lot cuter than she looks.


Appears in Five-2-One

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