He gave her a nice cat.
He saved her a rice cat.
He shaved her an ice hat.
He shoved her a bat.
He showed her a gnat.
He owed her a nut.
He mowed her a nut.
He mowed her, but-
She smoked a butt.
She choked on that.
….I don’t even know what a rice cat is.
Playing around, because Things I Want To Happen aren’t happening. This is better than brewing a shitstorm or throwing a fit. Bah, universe, bah! You’re not going to stop me.
finding a name
to describe your face,
I find it on the ground: lying
limp, tattered- a muddied lace.
The problem with anger is
it leaves no room
for the imagination. Consider taking
a long stick, sharpening its edges
with a knife (you may wish to use
later on). Imagine all the soft portions of skin covering
the vulnerable areas of a body impaled. Describe what you see.
What is the color of the blood? Qualify
its viscosity. Do not say it oozes. Tell me
of rivers and the diameter of wounds. Describe
what you see. Peel off the skin
if it pleases you; feel
the edges of bone. Let your fingers unhinge
arteries from where they cling. If you dislike piercing
barriers of skin, try areas already left
open: eyes, mouth, ears. The body
before you will offer no resistance. Observe
the organs as they struggle. Place your palm
on the soft cushion of a lung, the hushed pumping
of a dying heart. Watch the light leave
the body’s eyes. Describe what lies
before you. Speak of how blood dries into flecks
on the rough surface of your hands, how you hold
knife and stick close to your chest,
as though they were your own appendages
waiting for another moment to unfurl.
