Flammable Until Dry
I can remember a time when there was no great hurry. A statistic that includes the awkward ballet of lumpy, shuffling pedestrians. The ushers wore white tops and black bottoms and had to stay for the entire performance. Stores accepted cash only. It was better than being shackled and forced to shit where you sat. So screw it if a spy satellite should happen upon us or if a label says Flammable until dry. After thousands of years of children murdering children, love is still love – a furnace, a broken cup, a window covered with raindrops.
A bee can fly at roughly 16 miles an hour. Now everything I do is treated as a violation of some super-secret law. Just this morning, a boy on crutches hobbled away. The sky began to bend and stretch. When the phone rang, I thought it might be you. There was no why, there very rarely is, only the carcass of a dog that was hit by a car, the young driver grinning horribly.
Press Any Button to Continue
Why wait until it’s completely dark? Drugs can be dropped off at the collection site with no questions asked. In the worst case, you can fashion artificial nails from Ping-Pong balls. Love has to be ambitious. Love has to be determined, a machine gun that can fire 1,000 bullets per minute. Press any button to continue. It takes nectar from some two million flowers in order to produce a pound of honey.