Say your body's life-size trip clock starts in schlep on the down slope. Then the long hand slaloms you steep as your face tocks the take of nine-to-five. It's just your timing and mindset that's semi- rattled, and everyone comes to the skit a little pusillanimous to begin. What is a kind of smudgy justice: the ancestors' DNA in full wig effect, frizzy edges crimped, oblivious to wind. Are you really inside that mirror slice? Pacing over past junkets still, a hybrid hallucination got stock-carded into a being strange to be, like that griffen who slips so casual onto someone else's map of laughing tropic locales. Friend, look hard. Mix. Step out. The center bit by bit gets beiged. You are one hundred percent half-and-half. In the hemi is the how. Copyright © 2018 Pimone Triplett. Used with permission of the author. |
0 comments:
Post a Comment