Growing Old and Age and Entropy

Keys left in the lock, location named after its occupant, to expose identity. 3D smelled of wood chips, inscribed on 2D’s door were the words Bridges for Trolls. Keys jangled like a rusted bell as the door opened and revealed the sigh of relief. Losing the mechanism used to unlock self, moments to make the person. Key removal sequestered ambivalence in relation to wiping dust from the book shelf, disgust enacted toward human remnants. Tooth missing encouraged the repeated tongue jab to fill 3D’s grin, growing empty and entropy and age.

Hands sanitized.

Rubber gloves on and cleaning crust from closed eyes.

Nostrils flared absorbing flour sprinkles casted off the unbaked cookies.

Radiator WHISTLING and expelling the history of old pipes

Transferring

Entropy

And age

And growing empty.

First Snowfall (it won’t happen again)

Human trappings

Outweigh organic life. This notion accepts

All that is

For-

Ever

Is here now. Basic snow

Trips

 Hands to let go,

One-Of-a-Kind

Shatters

Snow covers those remnants too.

Complimenting cycles

To induce

One-Of-a-Kind

Again.

Park patrons prepare their minds

To reduce virginal white,

Putrefying pine

Honoring the connection.

Observance. Fastened.

Per snowfall.

Purity

From head to toe.

From feet to nose.

Wipe away

One-Of-a-Kind.

Set it on the mitten.

Set it in the sky.

Wait for

One-Of-a-Kind.

Again.

That Must Be

1.

Cartoon pageantry issues thought bubbles, captioning the forethought

Of blank stare senders, censoring make believe per banal understandings.

2.

Providing new fashionable rebellion; Davies shoplifts three shades of blush. She takes them to her library’s public restroom, dips a sponge in the green makeup and inscribes her confession of theft onto the mirror. Davies begins exiting the bathroom, while leaving, holds the door open for the library’s security guard, who’s entering after her. She sees Davies’ confession and wishes she had the courage to do the same.

Exposing found ingenuity; Papa Deuces levels himself on hands and knees, lowers his head to peer underneath his couch. He grabs his cellphone, activates its flashlight app and uses the gleam to expire the cover of darkness. Stationed where the couch meets the wall reflects a sliver of silver. He reaches for it, but discovers a strand of floss. He shrugs, uses it to dislodge a popcorn kernel that had been stuck between his back molars for weeks.

3.

Pistol’s handle

Warm like a womb.

Bullet is waiting for birth.

Bullet’s name given upon contact.

Aluminum disguised as origami figures.

Wings of paper cranes screech and shower

Flakes of rust. Flakes of Americana.

Clean-cut yesterdays

Wink at their televisions

And play out the schizophrenic technique

Of

That-must-be.

…forgot to close the door

“Don’t make this fake, Last second of life”-Sparta

Goons are sacrificed, due diligence to spaces exposing bleed letting,

Mirrors stationed as substitutes for ceiling tiles, documentation held to its occurrence, (the Devil is in the details).

Fresh

Proposal suggests

Age defined by the length a person travels.

Stay-put civilians would grope the inches at 200 years, striving for suicide, to make it a little bit further.

Globe trotters accomplish a quick death, but witness Babylon’s flowers, competing for headspace against the cross-eyed observers, researching which colors compliment solitude.

Vacation proposes a known final sunset.

What would such sentiments bring?

Language follows the trends made by human experience.

Learning only by footsteps taken to the kitchen, bathroom and back to bed.

Lethargic doers would speak of well-traveled martyrs,

Citing their toe blisters as testaments of benevolent intervention.

Exiting the plane, examining the list of must see, rot sets and cataracts drapes a white lens,

Hustling to make the final seconds meaningful.

At the fountain, pocket length ideas, tossing the heads of leaders, no expression

Besides the one given to them and they sparkle underneath the sun, outside of their Coffin.

Showcases of Color with Respect to Advertisement

An explosion, origins unverified, erupted from the pond. Clumps of algae broke apart from each other and followed the current, collided with sunfish and bluegill carcasses floating belly up, reflecting full color spectrum off their scales, to combat the black of their dead eyes.

Sitcom streamed through Hulu paused on a commercial break, Tide Pods stayed the screen in their familiar orange hue, nobody blinked.

Furnace whistled, enticed the hamster to expose herself to lamp light gleaming from the opposite end of the room, staging the profile of her cage to cast over her red eyes.

The pond was asking for it. “It” detailing the criteria for murder and the decryption of judgement balancing desire and circumstance within the act itself.

Sitcom staged a human reaction and invited the audience to react based upon the context of the material as if they were mannequins dressed in designer clothes and holding mirrors, inviting models to check for malfunctions in their reflections, displaying the same duds as the mannequins themselves.  

Furnace whistle is reminiscent of Neanderthals shrieking in reaction to vermin scampering along the stone floor. Who doesn’t love a good tune?

Death to the Cash Cow

Crucifix secured to string, dangled from Aseop’s neck, removed and left on his end table, next to his rocking chair and settling in to teeter, he placed a cold soda inside the string spiral. Aluminum can adjusted to different temperatures, perspired and left a ring of moisture behind as Aseop lifted the soda, took a gulp and set it back down. Flames jutted from his furnace, decorated the drip coming off the soda-can in ember polka dots. His partner, Jeddidah, walked into the living room, heaved a sigh. 

“I’ve done it.” Jedidah said.

“Done what?” Aesop questioned. 

“I done it…I done it…Hell…I named our cow.” 

Aesop shook his head in disapproval, heaved a sigh of his own, but unleashed it through his nostrils. 

“Why’d you go do something like that?” He asked.

“I don’t know…Claudia…that’s her name…Claudia…she was looking at me with these eyes, glossed over, looking like…hell…remember when we released those balloons at Paul’s wedding and one of ‘em hit that power-line and sparks flew everywhere?”

Aesop nodded in agreement.

“Her eyes looked like that. Full of electricity, but meant for a different purpose, like they were saying something to me about love.” 

Aesop peered over at his crucifix, a tiny puddle had formed underneath Jesus, pairing that atop the glass, it looked as if he was floating. 

“You ain’t going to be able to kill, what’d you call her?”

“Claudia.”

“Claudia. You ain’t going to be able to kill Claudia now.”

“I know.”

“Shoot. You know it’s easier just to kill ‘em than watch ‘em die slowly. Where’s the love in that?” 

“I don’t know…maybe I’ll fall out of love and be able to kill her.”

“Meat will go rotten by then.” 

“She’ll be our cash cow then…our Golden Calf.” 

Aesop raised from his chair, strode to Jedidiah’s side, pulled him close and kissed him. 

“I love you to death.” He said.

Names for Time and Place?

The alphabet described itself, during the dry season, when warring tribes found themselves negotiating flesh for food, still moments which caused a Big-Person to stare up at the tree tops and wonder what it all means, a moment for words. Blinked, the line broke, songbirds interrupted with exclamation points and the trail curling through dense shrubbery functioned as the prototype for the first letter. 

Passing along the sidewalk, encountering empty lots, finding the right words to describe a moment without tree tops. Police sirens deplete serenity, replace it with miniscule showcases of dry season, all too human, antics.  Ink trails presented in sequence, conscript the TA-DA! of empty motions. Stationed where concrete recedes and shoreline depicts the horizon, ducks dip underneath the water, interrupt the Moon staring at its reflected blemishes, dark ripples break the surface, a duck submerges, obliterates silence by quacking. 

(There’s no pleasure given in naming the sequence, but how else are we to appreciate what happened? Alignment of a period piece counteracts with morality required in real-time.) 

Checking the wristwatch. Again. It’s midnight, but it felt as if yesterday was named instead. 

Ode 2 @ Slumlord

Guillotine altered its gadgetry to include recycled windows,

With paneling leased  

And cared for by a slumlord. 

Though the slumlord 

Was unaware he’d sacrifice his neck 

To unite warring tribes,

The onset of global unity 

Is war. Closed doors hearken for stowaway insects, 

Who plant their fangs 

Into equal flesh 

As if they were Americans 

Embedding their flag in moonrock. 

But ignoring the tonal ambivalence 

Of plastic creased against 

A rock (empty shampoo bottles)

And a hard place (carpet samples) 

Requires clarity from 

Objects posting shadows

To prove their anatomical 

Consciousness. 

Neck breaks occur during times of unrest,

It’s when we’re sleeping that triple chins 

Harbor muscles unknown 

To combat their lucky break. 

3rd Eye (candy)

Gasp diluted by dust ridden inhales,

Bargaining for acid tongue surplus

To 

Melt the fat that’s

Ravaging the pontificator’s

Chapped lips. 

Orchestral articulation 

Aligns escaping carbonation 

With antidepressants

Shaken about 

Inside mouths 

Matching the orange 

From whence the bottle birthed. 

Triangle pulse predicts pitch, 

Sequences tissue rhythms 

To contend against 

Papers soaked in old soda,

Escaping out the car 

And scampering down the block,

Afraid of American freedoms.

Hunter 

Gatherer tribes begot 

Consumer culture

By combining resources 

And luxuriating by the fire. 

Sharing false claims of 

The GODS’ forever is tomorrow 

Plan. 

Worship places the parishioner  

Outside Walmart at 3am 

During a pandemic 

To purchase the same color palette 

They ignore for free.

Negotiating Progress

French surrealists portrayed love affairs between prostitutes and Bohemians as dedications to absurdity.
Absurd is advising a monkey to consume a banana due to its yellow pigment.
Affection is repetitive
And a
Marketing genius secured a condom dispenser above a urinal
And
Dedicated blank canvases for hire along the interstate and highways, promoting All You Can Eat Buffets, Evangelical services highlighted in blue neon, but Adult Novelty Stores attribute maturity to plastic pricks and movies demonstrating how a plumber may fix more than the pipes. Affection is repetitive.
Problem of negation suggests consumers consider marshmallows, shaped like fantasy charms, added to sugar coated oat flakes to be an enhancement for breakfast cereal.
Baroque composers dedicated 150 years to violin solos.
George Washington refused the title of King.
Indoor plumbing encircles news tickers, spotlights strip parked cars of their shadows
And refurbish anxieties
To pull the plug if necessary. Affection is repetitive
And humans love repetition.