un momento
at night, she buries herself in graves of winter coats from decembers past; a tiny cadaver in a catacomb of fabric. she picked the sympathy of the belligerent, stationary springs in the rose colored couch over the aquarium waves encased in the water bed. she doesn't know how to swim.
in this state of hazy consciousness, between falling asleep and an inadvertent attention to...acoustic glare, our thoughts begin to drift lazily; going toward an artificial horizon, afloat on picaresque rivers:
of corpulent thighs flooding a pair of chartreuse and black striped knee highs. raised, pinched polyester tents cover two blubbery balloons; amassing space, pressing against a thin block of wood, and recruiting support from a chair's thin, hind legs; garnering wanton attention from a long table of speculators. the heir to the throne, and it was a big throne enough for a girl her size, sat at the end.
"hear hear!" a boisterous cheer rose up from the group.
"as your humble subjects, we'd like to say a few words in honor of your...honor," a man with slicked back hair said with a bow.
"here is to your large arsenal of wit!"
"here is to your massive donation to the church!"
"-to your generous and able bodied assembly!!"
"-to your beauty!"
"-to your sass!"
"-well that was a bit below the belt."
"-there's the butt to that joke."
"-bottom's up!"
with laced covered hands, they all took sips.
"oh well, enough, enough!" she puffed through thin lips. "what are we having tonight?"
"rump roast," they responded.
or what of living in a town named onomatopoeia? it would be an adam west parade of POWs and WHAMs and WOWs and SLAMs and ZINGs. or mushroom clouds in mid KABOOM. the woooosh of cold's icy breath, and feet's incessant crunching of foliage. she rationalized that if that were the case, there would always be whispers and murmurs, and haha (maybe ahas but to my knowledge that has only been one take on them), a world of nayfdjufklewirhklsafjkslafuilfdkfuiw (EXACTLY like that!). but she also thought, how could that be, with the hushing and the shushing and the shhhh-ing of so many?
or-or! tending to her light bulbous idea of growing onions in her stomach.
she woke up on that note. dawn peeked between the slats of the blinds and a mentos commercial had come on.
everything is punny in the dark recesses of early morning, in conjunction with the circles underneath ones eyes. it is within the day that the sky becomes sunny and most things cease to be that funny. and though i got this writing exercise right on the money, i woke up late and ignorant for my midterm. ain't that somethin'?
in this state of hazy consciousness, between falling asleep and an inadvertent attention to...acoustic glare, our thoughts begin to drift lazily; going toward an artificial horizon, afloat on picaresque rivers:
of corpulent thighs flooding a pair of chartreuse and black striped knee highs. raised, pinched polyester tents cover two blubbery balloons; amassing space, pressing against a thin block of wood, and recruiting support from a chair's thin, hind legs; garnering wanton attention from a long table of speculators. the heir to the throne, and it was a big throne enough for a girl her size, sat at the end.
"hear hear!" a boisterous cheer rose up from the group.
"as your humble subjects, we'd like to say a few words in honor of your...honor," a man with slicked back hair said with a bow.
"here is to your large arsenal of wit!"
"here is to your massive donation to the church!"
"-to your generous and able bodied assembly!!"
"-to your beauty!"
"-to your sass!"
"-well that was a bit below the belt."
"-there's the butt to that joke."
"-bottom's up!"
with laced covered hands, they all took sips.
"oh well, enough, enough!" she puffed through thin lips. "what are we having tonight?"
"rump roast," they responded.
or what of living in a town named onomatopoeia? it would be an adam west parade of POWs and WHAMs and WOWs and SLAMs and ZINGs. or mushroom clouds in mid KABOOM. the woooosh of cold's icy breath, and feet's incessant crunching of foliage. she rationalized that if that were the case, there would always be whispers and murmurs, and haha (maybe ahas but to my knowledge that has only been one take on them), a world of nayfdjufklewirhklsafjkslafuilfdkfuiw (EXACTLY like that!). but she also thought, how could that be, with the hushing and the shushing and the shhhh-ing of so many?
or-or! tending to her light bulbous idea of growing onions in her stomach.
she woke up on that note. dawn peeked between the slats of the blinds and a mentos commercial had come on.
everything is punny in the dark recesses of early morning, in conjunction with the circles underneath ones eyes. it is within the day that the sky becomes sunny and most things cease to be that funny. and though i got this writing exercise right on the money, i woke up late and ignorant for my midterm. ain't that somethin'?