Disasters, both natural and not,
events without context, news
and opinion in the inexorable blender:
spaghetti models, fear, denial,
the slow back roads get you out
faster than congested freeways.
On the menu, a cocktail named
Category Five. Distinguishing
between firecrackers and gunshots,
the spaghetti-thin model maintains the lie,
vomiting off-camera. Sometimes fear is a gift.
We long for mountains and snow.
The upstairs neighbors have a big family
who all wear work boots, and happen
to be insomniac, giant centipedes.
The apartment is ludicrously
over-priced but convenienently near
to all the best beaches we don't visit.
What I do between dropped shoes
can not be called sleep. What you do
between sleep might be called dreaming.
Qualia, yours and mine, separate us.
So much suffering that we're cross-eyed from looking
away when there's nowhere to look but within.
About the Creator
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.