The Baker, The Gentleman, The Weather Askew
Thistles tumble- a waiter's fife- lulling the food and customers into bed together. Teeth
are at war and the waiter's got the contract. It's raining. It's ok that it's raining. The
rain may go backwards, through roots and faucets, straight up, and then down- a cool sandwich.
The power of the broom, licking tiliment from the shoulder's of civilization, combing baldness,
so that it might grow ripe with hair- call it from the sky for long years and ssssSweep! and
it will grow back. Bristles spasm smoothly, both benign and electric, giving to the impact for
a moment in exchange for something else- a back spasm, appreciation for a fine massage.
The kettle is calling.
From the leafy mist a taste of moist metal spreads- bubonic blood- olive grease slithering up
the leg of a white garment- bubbling briefly. And then gone, seeping some previously
Coming out of the wall, a spider, a cross between a cat and an iguana, presented in the dim
light, half unwrapped and shaking. The florescent lights flicker and then fade. But there is
the cook, knowing nothing but the buzzing tube, and liquid flame.
Grow greasy stone
sweat mineral fluid
Do it! Burn, and sweat
The room is spakling. Its eyes winking animal shadows, pressed and ground into enemy shapes.
The room is muffled. It is the heat of burning paper that makes sound less necessary.
Beed toys sting the floor.
Yet, among the rubble
of the walls of rock lay fun
pickled without abandon
by puckering dill mites
who mock the kettle
leaving spider-webs of
tracks to mar and
changing/denying the kettle's tone.
If the key for the floor were in the waiter's pocket, then his neck would sweat less and sinking
stomachs so tiny would keep mushed pears from the ground. Squinting creatures would say that
they thought he stood not just upright, but carrot upright, complete with tiny green
arms coming out of his head. They would suggest that he don a bubble and plant himself in the
ocean as he and corral would compliment each other's color nicely. But the key is lost.
WAAAAAAAAHHHHH! I'm LEAVING!!
I want to camping with a kitten and frighten it with ghost stories.