Sunday, November 11, 2012

It's All About the Birds

Last night I dreamt I was walking to the mall when I saw a badger cub hovering beside a bush. It smiled at me before flying away. A moment later, a breathless young man ran up to me asking if I'd seen a badger cub anywhere--he was the owner of the mother and was upset to discover one of her brood had vanished. Since I knew baby badgers couldn't fly, I said I had seen it and that I supposed it had been carried off by a bird I'd failed to see somehow. We split up and began a search for ravens or hawks.

I woke up and when I went back to sleep I dreamt I was feeding cold meat to three wild turkeys, which may reflect the hangover I was accruing at the time, though it was from port not Wild Turkey. Wine always gives me the worst headaches, and port gives me the worst of all wines. But the stuff tastes like candy, what can I say.

Anyway, happy Armistice Day, folks.

Twitter Sonnet #445

Feminine oatmeal held the zucchini.
Warm grains glittered down the duck's feathered neck.
Monkey Face has a purse for her penny.
Fontaine trembles by the jungle gym wreck.
Inverse bondage barraged Saturday morn.
Germless lakes can't conceive a toad for shit.
Politic tea sets are pawned for old porn.
Ordinary humans have a small kit.
Gluten tendons deteriorate fast.
Dusk collapses on the mislaid milk stool.
Sailor Time takes knots from the ropey past
And softly loosens them around the bull.
Telegraphed cucumber dims to pickle.
Briny knowledge punctured the bicycle.

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