Yesterday, 12:38 PM
A Terrible Crisis
There was a terrible crisis in my town, and I was worried
I might be the cause. Recently I had been pouring hot oil
down the kitchen sink, even though I know this damages
the pipes: laziness brought me to the dance, and cold guilt
made me pay. Every night I dream a vision of my father’s
pubic hair, balled like a bare-knuckler’s fist, chucked against
a young girl’s teddy bear’s looming left eye. It’s almost as alarming
as the fact it’s seen much worse—statistically speaking, tender
blonde-eyed Sophie Martingale, the two-thirds child
of local fame, has known the touch of half a relative
who lives in walking distance. Some among the locals have been known
to almost sympathize, seeing how the wet moon moves
so brazenly at night, how she hikes her little clothes and hovers
glistening above the county lake like oil
against the better judgment of whoever.
There was a terrible crisis in my town, and I was worried
I might be the cause. Recently I had been pouring hot oil
down the kitchen sink, even though I know this damages
the pipes: laziness brought me to the dance, and cold guilt
made me pay. Every night I dream a vision of my father’s
pubic hair, balled like a bare-knuckler’s fist, chucked against
a young girl’s teddy bear’s looming left eye. It’s almost as alarming
as the fact it’s seen much worse—statistically speaking, tender
blonde-eyed Sophie Martingale, the two-thirds child
of local fame, has known the touch of half a relative
who lives in walking distance. Some among the locals have been known
to almost sympathize, seeing how the wet moon moves
so brazenly at night, how she hikes her little clothes and hovers
glistening above the county lake like oil
against the better judgment of whoever.