a liquid stench stood naked in the harmonic melody, swept away by a contagious gasp of breath and incantation. Try as it may, no oxygen left for stumbling. The room, spinning the haunting ethylene and chlorine echoes, weaving fluidity, its beating chest.
floating language saddled to an incandescent dream-state. Sticky bodies swaying, without reason; with rhyme. free, prose. free for the taking and devouring, like a sweet delicate dessert. And the poets, all the same. Mesmerized by the incoherence, but all the same delighted in its fervor, Fist(s) full of swoon. Surely, not just two, three,
seven. boats. beating against the current.
ashes to ashes
dust to dust
all for not
if not for all of us.
for crying out loud, strangers. delivered & (intertwined) into a magical happenstance. a near miss.
Ramona Geraldine Quimby, just behind the window on Klickitat Street. Nothing ever turned out as you expected––this, Hollywood horror. Say goodnight, my dear acquaintance(s). Surely, You have the worst misunderstanding. Lock my wicked heart in this rickety cage.
This is not first, nor last. three hundred and sixty four bones, tapping truth. Thank god for the bystanders, innocent as they may be.
we’ve got to make make make the best of our time.