Subterfuge Scummed Through the Bottom of the Bathwater

by | May 12, 2023 | Picking up the Pieces

He hands me a glass filtered with the color of tea and weathered tourniquets. The teeming counterpoint of operatic highs and lows fill the room with pilfered yesterdays. I understand mangled life.

Mom complained of the heat wave as she tugged off her heels. She headed for the freezer, ice cubes tinkled into a glass and out came the bourbon while her hazy blonde wig turned into an ice sculpture. Antarctica blasted out of her mouth.

Three times Shelly marries a dress, a day, an uninhabitable dalliance with expectation. Patrons weep and clink glasses through lukewarm ceremonies, as though no historical link with their own garbled sanity is invited.

Look into my facial merry-go-round and find a comrade on every horse.

Many episodes can’t be recorded. I go places for no reason other than the movement of feet without synapses recording a destination to the cortex.

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