Thursday, August 4, 2011

cotton eyed joe

What about this? she asks.

Great question, I say. Jot it down, here's a pen.

Shuffle ball change.


I think this will be the end of life as we know it.


Maybe but  you and me, we gotta make it look pretty.

Shuffle ball change.


Why did she do that?


'Cause she has control issues. What else do you need?

Shuffle ball change.


Paper flies until midnight ten when one finally settles on the next. The choice was made and living with it was all anyone had left. A phone rings. He walks into the room. She dances for his approval. A smile, a smirk, anything will do and reluctantly he does. That's all she needs.

Shuffle ball change.


They sit in a room circling a phone with an unfamiliar but pleasant enough voice. Nobody speaks 'cause nobody wants to get in another's way. The pleasantness laughs at itself, at the situation, at the scene. Ice is broken and questions once written are given voices. Sometimes success means you woke up this morning and made the drive. Sometimes it's more.

Shuffle ball change.


The three of them form a triangle and take the drug. Absurdity is this, frustration is that, did you hear, no, did you see, yes, where are we, right here, where are they, over there. Sometimes smoke heals, lures, eases and costs are always about sacrifices. When did you stop caring?

I didn't. I just pretend I don't.


Shuffle ball change.



The next to the last man standing exits the room.

She's the last one standing and she doesn't even need tap shoes.





Dude. I need tassels and glitter.





Gratitude.

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