Making vocal audio energy tunnels with our dial tone
mouths on the Appalachian Trail,
Spending an inappropriate amount of time looking for
two dropped joints by the campfire,
after asking him if it was OK to smoke.
And Dad, getting on his knees,
helping his daughter get high in the woods.
"Only nineteen deer" that day.
A stalactite toned organ at the berth of the cavern
played a song to still us at its center,
a place where the geographically inclined wed,
a chapel for those who like less indirect architectural design
from GOD.
A bottle of Frank's hot sauce in my fanny pack
for my sinuses, we ate thousands of calories a day,
passing lean, tanned bodies wearing themselves against the trail,
characters en route to Shackleton's ship
for the last of the dog races off to their doom.
Owls hooted, really, and coyotes howled,
a dog's pant of a ghost flew over our heads.
A blind man once hiked the whole thing?
Picking black and raspberries before the summit,
we held them and our breaths for a mama bear to appear.
My brother smoked cigarettes behind us, heavily breathing
till we emerged, charlie chaplining our way out of the woods,
our legs dissolved now and jointless stork limbs shoved deep into our hip sockets.
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I see you over there, then again your not being very discreat about it. You judt did three tables in a row. I know it's not your fault, they don't pay you enough to change it. the diner down the street pays him the same amount and he changes it less, soo thanks.... I guess? Jeeze, six tables in a row, I can't leave they already searved me water. I bet the table smells if I put my nose up to it. Im not going to do that because then this old couple next to me will stare at me sniffing the table. I think i would be better off any more table treatment. eight tables in a row.... Where's he going? Well thank fucking god he's going to change it. wait... Shit, he dipped the rag in the bucket im leaving.
ReplyDeleteRyan OCP
RAGGAMUFFINS
ReplyDeleteBleached out bubblegum
Soggy wet washcloth
white chewed laundry spincycle dollar
in the mouth of a spit up burp baby
a mashed up shoulder ball bone stuck
in the center of a flesh pink armpit
you soap up that boner sir
before you get caught up in the elbow zone
AUXILIARY SEX!! YESS
The rag browned its way across the tumbled pebble surface. Mowed-down white flagellum scooping up the ketchup and mustard in its cotton anemone clutches. Her favorite colors, she reminded her self, licking her lips.
ReplyDeleteThe tabletop, sprightly in its posturing of cleanliness lay under a lingering opaque sheen of gross drying water stuff that soon elbows and children’s faces would marinate in.
“Four? Right this way.”
She slammed and flung the packages of cheap, nearly transparent crayons down one side of the booth’s placemats. A purple one snapped in half.
Two kids chased each other into the seat and a woman slid in across from them on the other side.
“My name’s Stacy? Do you know what you’d like to drink?”
The man scooted his wife in and told her to bring him a cup of coffee, and the woman said she’d like to have a boring life please.
Stacy obliged, and carefully zipped her human suit down to her upper right thigh, gently pulling her left leg out, making sure to untie her apron first, then pulled the zipper on down toward her right instep, letting it quietly fall into a pile about her.
“You can have mine.”
Embarrassed, the woman said she was joking,
She’d already had one.
The kid stabbed his brother through the hand with a fork and the women exchanged a sharp giggle.