The call of my people is changing always changing

Rework Redux: Sitting Pretty

Sitting Pretty

Soon as I make a perfect cotton replica of myself. I’ve already sewn the arms and they are stowed in a hatbox.

Henry Noah Manly Klinger. Enzo Iguana Alyosha Klinger.

Henry – “hen”
Noah – “no”
Manly – “man”
Enzo – “Zo”
Iguana – “Iggy”
Alyosha – “Allie”

Things that need to be said [can be said] sucking butterscotch on the weedy edge of the river. On the (& I hate it) path, I can see the gators. One will always be looking my way with his dirty teeth and chains. Call them by name and they don’t come. Walk long ways around them, full of hullabaloo. They don’t/can’t care. Why do I?

At some point I’ll  have to track back across the dark path, the feeling between this and the gators floating senselessly together-like. It is like I’m already tangled in them, my brain mashed to one side of my skull getting soft enough to swallow.

At some point, they’ll all come talk to me about my drinking.

The call of my people is changing always changing & I hate/hear them with an endless procrastination. I don’t/can’t care. I live in the burbs. The vacant summer months are before me like trees whose branches constantly break. Is it anyone’s fault that they do?

 

 

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