by Brian McCloskey
A shadow chasing me around in a circle. Hopscotch is much happier. The gerbil escaped and cornered my mother. And talking to a metal box. I am filled with angels. The owl of sleep calls out to coax you to his tree of dreams. A supremely beautiful and seductive woman. That’s a dead bird. My head is happening again. Because I begin to hear music again. And then Brian’s hat became a chocolate swan. A handsome woman like Judith. There is a remarkable lack of activity in your mouth. The anemone is a metaphor for power. It looks as if it could be a wardrobe. Do it now to that, ‘cause that looks great. Most of us need the eggs. It makes your pets vomit. A pair of shoes just fell out of a plane. Shiny side toward the body. They don’t make a lot of things for rooms with round walls. It’s just like your hair got larger and became a room. Insects are created spontaneously. A memorable encounter. All I can think of is oral sex. It’s as if she doesn’t want to go out with me. The way he avoids eye contact and can’t really get his words out. I have obviously a lovely lorry. Imagine finding something like that in a fish. A drink to stop you farting called Brian. And faxed a picture of a horse to the president of Denmark.