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.
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
Cartoon pageantry issues thought bubbles, captioning the forethought
Of blank stare senders, censoring make believe per banal understandings.
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.
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?
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. You ain’t going to be able to kill Claudia now.”
“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.
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.
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.