When it’s late at night I like to check on the house and fly over open floorplans 50 feet beelow, beelow my blood. I float like a feathered finger inching to a further. Clouding my hair full of soft bones. I finch tight with secret smiles b a t h i n g in navy.
Behind the house is a beach…
much more quiet than gazing on the house below at the pppppppparty guests filtering in this room and out of that room and talking about what they do and who they are and gossiping about diddly squat and you know that can get pretty boring. The light is too bright anyway. Have you ever heard of a can del?
So I wander in the air, s m ooth as s ooup over to the rocky beach.
P u f f f
The flurry tickles my armpits blue until I giggle and scream but no sounds come out because I’m too busy watch-ing and list-ning.
Shush, be quiet, I can’t quite hear.
The beach is hushed and the rocks are creamy felted balls of belly button fuzz dyed robin’s egg. I sink towards the rocks.
You know I like pretty things, I would like to put pretty things in my pockets.
But you’re not wearing pockets? I says.
But I can still feel them and maybe I can cradle them in my teeth.
So sink bubbling slother sag
Sags me towards the bed.
Before I can feel, a zebra draws close. Looks rather like a sewn up dog. A big one though. No eyes or ears just piehole of sharp silver scissor clamps searching for a trap. Lumbering near like a slugg. I think to rise but disobeying is god’s breath to push me.
Pinch at my foot as I dangle like a 6 foot high loser.
Almost gets me pale steak for the snatch
And I fall into the sky.