beautiful prose,

no i settle for worse

words written while

playing the ‘i dont care’ game

words i mean but must act like i don’t

words i scribbled with a knife in the slide

in that town that doesn’t mean anything to me

the one near the border of mexico

you remember
where we first discovered that people do illicit things in parks

then carve their names in the slides



mine said

roger was here

The baby’s crying
No
It’s the phone ringing
His neck is rung
The clothes are out to dry
The river runs
A marathon in the desert
With a cherry on top
It’s a spinning carousel
With horses and ponies
But then she grew up
And we’ll find out
I’d rather be in
Hotel or motel
Models?
With bodies
Of water by the bank
There’s a hold up
I’m stuck
I’m only two feet away
There are two feet
Walking to the phone
Four now
I am a cat
The cat?
Who let the cat out?
Eight legs
A spider
Spinning my web
And wait
There is a slumbering giant
Not sleeping
Awake
He is hunting
I am hiding
In the mouse hole
They are fighting a holy war
The mousetrap kills them all
In the kitchen underneath
The sink
The waters running
I am running
I am drowning
I can fly
I’m a fly
Must get out the window
Did you say widow?
She’s watching television
And hears the phone ringing
The phone has my feet
I have no feet
It’s still too far away

o, little flowers
drink the sun:
please don’t die.

The water seeped through the
top of his shoe, but
the slight wet did not
phase him, as he
strode so purposefully
towards the door.

He loved to have his
key to this, his
home and haven,
just the place to
hide away from
rain.

The lock unset, the
door swung wide, he
stepped inside, and
just as he would wipe
his head, a bolt of
lightening struck him dead.