When Making an Axe Handle

Beer for the gut lurch
taller shadows
changable enemies
untill the distance blurred
we pinned our shadows to mirrors
fairly smirking in slanted light
I need to know why we are laughing
whose there to catch us when we fall?
I'll unpin and pull the shadow
across the cracks along the wall
bathe in the stuff
drink it in
come to love
we drowned ourselves in rotten blood

I used to have dreams in which I clung to fistfulls of salt - left fistfulls - as though my life depended on it. I conveyed them, the fistfulls, through bleachy Escher-scapes.

.tic

Buddha is reincarnated in Elco, Nevada.

.tic

Christ is reincarnated in Rifle, Colorado.

.sic

Christ is reincarnated in Dinosaur, Colorado.

.tic

They have a Graveyard.

tic.

Here lies Rex.

The Tower of Babel is a metaphor, like gender, only instead of signifying nothing, it signifies alphabet soup. Old Yaweh did'nt scatter peoples. He scattered soup. Made a mess of it. That's why He hasnt smashed the internet. That's why nobody cares about Esperonto.