"looks like it's time for our william tell routine."
i've been thinking in haiku lately. it's something that happens to me intermittently. there are no white chickens in my haiku. no icebox plums. no red wheelbarrow, either.
sorry.
sticky hot, sweat rains
from our bodies like something
out of a nightmare
on the freeway's edge
clouds of flies surround bloated
and stiff dead raccoon
blood creeps up the tube
of the iv in my arm;
i am all alone
this won't hurt a bit
the smiling man tells me and
turns me inside out
sorry.
sticky hot, sweat rains
from our bodies like something
out of a nightmare
on the freeway's edge
clouds of flies surround bloated
and stiff dead raccoon
blood creeps up the tube
of the iv in my arm;
i am all alone
this won't hurt a bit
the smiling man tells me and
turns me inside out