Friday, November 17, 2006

Fabric

I like this delicious cloth on my skin. It almost feels like real beaver seal mastodon bald eagle chipmunk hippo anteater shoe salesperson ant. Who did you kill to get it? Wait, don't tell me, the local clerk at the liquor store? He had it coming for years. Every time he checked my I.D. he asked if that was my real photo, when I'd tried that day to look as dead as possible. Or was it the local pharmacist? She wouldn't give me the narcotics I needed to get through one more day with you; sorry, angel, but it's true. His bottles winked at me like two moons jump roping over a cow. I don't think that makes sense, but these new meds might not be working. Perhaps you just tortured someone for loot and vocabulary. I think you found an English teacher and now know what the word "pellucid" means. If you use it in a poem, you must be shot, though. Or you hurt a politician, learned to say "love" and really mean "withdrawal." When you say "kiss me," it actually signifies "fight the romantic insurgents." But, oh, this fabric is fantastic. Like living in a second skin after the old one has been sublet to a couple that argues a lot and burns cigarettes on the carpet. I won't trouble you with any more questions, just, why the decapitation hat? I thought they nailed those heads of traitors to the bridge for everyone to see.

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