The walrus rolled up the beach away from the waves. He took the last little oyster with him, she laughing hysterically all the way. She didn't care for the sushi, but she'd found a gold tooth in a piece of caramel the last time they'd visited so it was her favorite place to eat. The sun agreed to talk and the moon smiled, flashing a rainbow ring off her chipped front tooth.
"Someone removed our lungs before we were born," the carpenter yelled at the sea. He focused on the cracks in the low-sitting stone; each mapped an artery that had been naturally cauterized. Glowing metal poles sizzled fresh tomato skin cracked cups and pine cones. The evening breeze whistled a chewed-gum occlusion on tall trees for recently-departed leafless neighbors.
And time ended. Now was then and only past whatever was before tomorrow. It was meaningless and pointless to eulogize. A couple of football players from Florida and a local college girl blindfolded themselves and sped off across the waves in their flashy cabin cruiser in search of the famous sea captain's tambourine fireside jamboree.
The carpenter took a deep breath and downed another bottle of pavement coating to smooth the rough surface and continued to stare down the cracks in the rock. The stuff tasted like fire and made it difficult to focus his eyes, but once aligned he felt as though he possessed an almost microscopic vision. As he'd gradually lose focus, his eyes would cross until he wasn't really sure where he was looking until he took the next drink. The sun headed off for tomorrow and the moon raised a suspicious right eyebrow.
He duly noted that everything about the rock was a chemical reaction searching for neutrality. He thought about Jesus, The Devil, and the red-haired girl who knew so much about both. Hounds screamed his name from the inferno and he whispered to her, "I know they can hear me."
Black and white lines reflected from the grinning moon and painted the hypoxic sand where he sat, removing the comfort of gray from everything in his view. - DA
The time will come (the little Queen said) when we will talk of many things...
Of music, dancing, happy pasts and what the future brings ~
Jane Parres
LISTEN: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/play/77052
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