Last Piece of Candy
March 23, 2016 § Leave a comment
The chemical rewards of subtle social dominance. A hot groping in the interstices. Plans about the liquids you store in your body. A new telegraphy. Years of dust accumulating on the engraved tablet. The letters written over themselves. A crow here and there. A nice humming. A numbness. Everybody’s body smells different. Different than the one before. The sexual imperative of never backing down. Sabotaging. Taking the last piece of candy from the bowl. We should give up on gravity resistant bacteria. Start sending ancient relics to the moon. Pieces of Stonehenge and the Great Pyramid at Giza. Cleaning up a bit. So later we won’t be embarrassed about our precipitous decline. Fog at 5am and no sign of the moon. Someone is coming down the hill. It’s not you though. You’re going up the hill. You just don’t notice it anymore.