When I read your mind, love, I am
afraid of how my thoughts would spin. I
am a neutral human and you are naturally inhumane. You bit my arm and your jaws won. My paws made you pause. I didn’t want to wonder about that. I just want to wander some place. In molecules or space. I want to be a space cadet but I am still
being erased by you yet. I need to be in
a still. I am only in a stall. And I will be away and that is all.
Then some guy from the village hall
told us, “Either of Youse guise sure knows a lot or Youse sure Nose Up Snot! You keep telling everyone ‘No!’ You
constantly make this such a plot. Everyone all around should keep trying to put
you in your own plot. To Me You Are Like
Ether, Eager Resilience, resilience, rescience, or resident. What did you now just vent? Not, what did you dent?! That’s knot what I meant! That’s only what you all have spent. I have suspenders. You are suspecters. No, you are suspected!”
That made you look mad and yell at
me, “Cubadors, Cue Your bores, Commodores, Commanders, or Calm You Dorks,
you’re just a bunch of Pork, and no, you, oh you sure ain’t ‘Just.’ There is no Justice, you always make my life,
Just Ice, and you are a Juice Vice.”
I responded with, “Guillotine, your
machine, when ever you see my neck, I just get chop chop chopped. My head’s always your new mop. Boy, thanks to you, my life sure goes
flop. I not even allowed to sing, ‘Doo
Dop, Doo Dop, Doo Dop.’ And you keep enjoying your crop as I sure go plop.”
So, you reacted to me with, “You’re
the one who causes life to be Ice and dose cream on my existence when you
constantly cram my mouth. ‘Outh! Outh!
Outh of There!’ If you cared
that’d be rare.”
A neighbor then pointed out, “Both
of you keep Blundering folks with slight binges. Like a couple of burry hairy fight
things. One of you goes, ‘Call Me Leo,
Mop Up My Steep Hole!’ while your
girlfriend says, ‘ Altitude Moe. Just
let me go!’”
And the village person told us all,
“You keep Gunning up to goon me. Like
all others, you keep running up to ruin me.
It’s like when my brother punched me up to buffoon me. But I’m still alive so you have to moon me!”
We all reacted to the village with:
“Body Warmth,
Body Warmth,
Body Warmth,
Body Warmth.
You won’t ever have to Cremate USA, or is
that us because
You Burn Up Ourselves.”
My girlfriend then smilingly said, “I
know what I produce is garbage but I enjoy doing it and you enjoy hating
me. I hear you say you worked your whole
life and you call my life a hole and even though I pay for your living and
enjoyments in your life you claim that I never worked.”
That caused me to ask her, “Are you
a comet medium or a constellational medium?
Do you shine in the sky or scintillate over the sea moon? My arms are your Abell Cluster. Can’t we just walk with each other instead of
calling the police because one of us does not like what we think the other one
thinks!”
Life with her then went on without
the combination of how radioactive Moon Rocks were and how little anyone really
chewed them. "First of all, how wells were full of them," the space
ghost in my mind said of those we keep poking at for about thirty-seven times.
"Nobody had a bad art to build clay around Arial Electrons. And it was
always the same thing: how much of a space guy they were, how production fell
apart, yet at the prism of different times, how they really never felt they flew
over earth very well, because that was a very private prison."
It grew into my mind that now, the
stalactites are the tights on my thighs.
“Thy yes and lie no!” Take the
humanity and move to the side! I can’t
take that but don’t show me that you are alive.
And the village commandant said, “
That slider from Jupiter had jumped now from Saturn and sat down on his own
Moon. Boy, do you hear him Mooning all
over the place! Or is that all over the Space?”
To which my girlfriend said, “Punch,
Punch here. That Punch is not Rare. Hear a Punch? There’s a bunch. Ever swear I am a punch skunk. Proof Puke
here. On the roof there. He’s a Dare.
Every stare. Gotta be a glared
blare. You claim to be Iconic but you
are sure Ironic.”
Our village commander replied with,
“If you are putting up with your selves own feeling possessive then you’d better putt
it away from your life’s sand trap.
Witch is not rare. Is that your
own hearts or your owed hearts? How many
times have you seconded away, theirs’d hour do you fluff flower? Do you really realize that your life’s reel
is full of lies? And you are just some
grizzly’s meal. Look in his eyes. Eye! Eye! Captain!”
I just sighed with, “There's no
getting around the fact that our ape-life is an ionic earth neighbor show. All
those Arctic Meteorites and Jeweled Space Roasted vandals depict a stitched up venison
of the Aurora Borealis life in Mars to Jupiter rings, pounding out your coast
with Jackson Mississippi, Ecliptical Moons,
and Magnetic Spines.”
My girlfriend then told me,
“Sometimes you’re called ‘A Nut.’
Sometimes ‘A Goat.’ Everybody
does Cuss. That’s our Cemetery ground’s
quote. We should just be a Little Big
Con, in the state forest. Bear foot
mountain that a way. In our way. Life is not ‘away.’”
I agreed. “Mule Sack, Mule Sack, on the floor. Messed it up and skid some more. So, we do it like a bore. We hid some swears and messed with
sores. Our dramas will keep scolding us
with that ‘Radium Duck!’”
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