I Have No Room for Dinosaurs in My AfterlifeYours, in particular, have distended gums that break out into several costumed villains. ![]() I've had enough of mortality. Like liver transplants and runs in the stockings. Do you remember Cincinnati? ![]() Of course, you don't. You were at that pay phone for hours. You believed you were dying. ![]() You made me say velociraptor ninety-nine times— at first slowly then faster—to prove you trusted ![]() me to be there once it's your time to die. That's the afterlife I've had in mind ever since I tried ![]() to grow floating restaurants on my scabs. Don't get strange ideas now. I know about your ideas, ![]() like dysentery and duct tape for the aged. You call them your plastic brontosaurs ![]() with the Modigliani neck as if a different name could've made a difference to Dr. Guillotin's ![]() humanity project. From the start, not even God understood what it meant to be extinct. |
|
||||
Copyright © 1999 – 2024 Juked |
![]() |