Thursday 7/01/2010 12:23:00 AM

Scratching at the wart on her eyelid she saw things that were never there before. Genies ready with wishes to give. If only she could think of one worth wasting. Empty parking lots with stubborn old women circling for hours to locate the perfect spot.

As if the door could ever be close enough. Or her vision not betrayed. By this mountain of man too mammoth to climb, but willing to lift her up to the top.

A tornado of atoms fretting into the shadows on her lips as she she dared to take.

She could see. Just barely. Through the weight of calculations straining her brow. Frantically multiplying and dividing to determine what color of dress to wear. Incessantly checking the box. To see if the cat was still in it.

Was it alive. Was it dead. Or both. Only the poison in her experiment could guess. Her cheeks a candy house. Her ass a muddy trail. All leading to a dead witch with a wolf in her bed. And a child soon to lose her picnic.

It wasn't in the science that she went wrong she reasoned. Rather in the execution of the physics. Through the woods she thought. Isn't the best way to get there.

But it's the most interesting to be sure.

| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2024. All Rights Reserved.