run rabbit run

'run, rabbbit, run.'

spoken, but by whom?

these lips? the skinny wallet sketching zepplins of expression in the hall mirror?

hindenberg-- pop, bam- smoke...

(before you hear what i have to say, my words are already baked, breaded, and burned by time)

 

whatever.

 

i excuse what i think is me and creep cross the aged cherry floorboards.

pitch fork thoughts: what other skunk soles have they courted? many...

fair, fair-- 'f**k no, not fair!!!'

(the cold, unfeeling permancence of an object out-dogging my vetted Anicca- again

and again

and

again)

 

sigh.

 

here i am. caught fanning in the exhaust pipe. again.

whatever. i'll just fix myself a weasel colombian coffee.

leave the lancelot-plated tin can on the counter.

she'll use it for her daily SOS mumbling something like- 'manicure, manicure, i need one, i do' while i, arthur (ex-king), cheese-grate confetti for my casket.

upon thy judgement day adonai shall come and raise the dead and--

APRIL FOOLS! CONFETTI, CONFETTI, CONFETTI!

 

'mm.'

 

eyes raise like a pirate flag.  schooner full balls ahead- where's the sour mash?

i carpet bag through the closet, the antique wash bin, the longaberger basket-

nothing. dry as a widow's vagina. she said it's for my own good.

'liver gonna look like gym socks in a gypsy's mouth!'

cough, cough-- the syllables hang like penguin ornaments on her kush exhale.

my liver... her lungs...

my own good?

would have been a bone bullet to the brain the day my cartoon self slipped down the pea chute.

 

'F**K!'

 

sigh.

 

just pour some more coffee and get over yourself why don't you.

 

Reviews

[Emily B]

your imagination is amazing