The Narrator and Miss Darlene

A barrage of sensual bullets
explodes inside my beer.

Life’s little lessons
tucked away
underneath lace lighters.

Stoplights go off
and I race through,
crashing headlong into a brick wall
lovingly named Miss Darlene.
She likes pancakes with her vodka,
But only after noon.

How do I know?
I think, therefore,
I forgot?

I’m pretty sure my name is Rodney.
Ask me later
after I finish my cigarette.
Who knows?
I could be dead by then,
But hell,
I could be dead right now.
Only time will tell.

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About Universal Shift

I am the Sonata Unusual. I coat myself with some obtuse angle too far below zero to become any warmer. I create motivation, activate schemas, moisten gardens with scents of natural honeydew. Construct this meaning, you sleepy flock. Silence your singing—despairing contortions out of tune. Shatter the brittle butterfly glass with your hideous wailing. I am born of my god’s imagination. When I die I shall meet him. For there are many things to discuss over tea…or scotch.

Posted on January 4, 2012, in Author, Fiction, poetry, writing and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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