turkey bag
Some days I wish I could read forever. Another mans words coiled like my intestines, but just behind my eyes as opposed to around my spine. My intestines do coil around my spine its true. Its the reason my liver hurts on Sunday and the reason my heart hurts on the 24th. One time a sensationally important man said, "This is why I'm hot". He was important but certainly not intelligent. A man who never watched the weather or took his temperature in his armpit or rectum is certainly traveling far from the books on human heat. A great octopus-scorpion once hung from a ceiling in New York. I saw it with my own eyes. I was trying to slip my tongue into the mouth of this beautiful woman who worked the door to the dungeon and my lens clapped a great picture of this beast. Its tentacle beams were red like the eyes of an alcoholic or a quarter sized fresh wound. I gave it gifts. Worldly objects that I had collected over the years and strewn about my small bedroom. In the lunch bag packaging were several items that held no use to me aside from friendly comfort. We all love to be surrounded by lots of objects for the purpose of distraction. Distraction and writing. I donated a cherished red and white hat that I had won at a dollar store in this old mall near my college. Its one of those old malls where three stores compete for two customers amongst tumbleweeds and old men sipping bad coffee. The coffee shop always wins with the exception of the first and fifteenth of every month. Those days the glory rests in the bowels of the dollar store. I think it’s called the dollar tree to be precise. I wonder if that's some clever statement referencing the saying about money growing on trees. Its unlikely they can afford to be that clever. I gave my ceiling god beast of condom comfort other things as well. I gave it a tea candle and a match. I knew that it could use its beams to light the candle had it any use for it, but the match just looked nice next to the candle. The pair reminded me of that painting of the old Amish couple with their pitchfork and leather suspenders. You know that painting. You do. My eyes blurred in the presence of the beast and I felt as if its dim wondrous light was glazing my future dreams. I love the way old wood looks when it receives a fresh coat of refinish shit. I imagine that’s how the beast will glaze my dreams. Everyone I know will die in an ice storm. I told this to the beast as his third and final gift. I was not sure how to wrap it so I rapped it quite tight. My lyrics danced around him like his firefly light sabers danced upon the stairwell. Hi lights grabbed the teeth of my fair mistress and made them appear grey or wine stained. Her teeth could certainly have been wine stained. Everyone in New York is a wino. Some city dwellers drink smaller men or yellow limousines, some chug their wine out of golden cups while others masturbate with Styrofoam cones. I preferred large coffee cups with small paintings of turkeys on them with leaves of fall colors dancing amongst their claws. After I made well with the beauty and the beast me and my amigo chased a turkey through the city. The turkey had been on my mind since I drank from him. We finally caught up with him at a bar where he hangs mightily from the stars above the worn wood. He barked at every bar laden mite that chewed its shaky lips. The story of his great travel hangs on the wall far away from him. Most never read his story they just masturbated in their Styrofoam cups. I stole the sweaters from a few mites before heading out into the rain. My amigo and I chased others dogs in the park and dreamed of laying beautiful New York flowers. I sang a song out loud that I don’t believe he heard. It mentioned you and me and the city in between. It wasn't very clever but it felt like sunshine pouring from my chapped lips. We wrote the directions back to our home on a whiskey bag and started walking. The cops hassled us so we called it a night and dug a hole at the base of a well-watered tree. We awoke the next day in a closet full of shoes and decided that we need be getting home soon or we may never go home again. What's home anyway? Home is just another mans words wrapped around my spine.