he used to play this game with himself when he was a boy  even then when he knew it wasnt plausibleeven before he knew the words plausible or implausible

 

he liked dirt under his feet  he liked grass and fieldshe loved riding his bicycle to the forest preserves(against his parents wishes and fearmongering) locking it to a tree and walk the horse paths the banks of Des Plaines River walk in its pasture breaks high-step in the woods among its dense trees over the dead and fallen over the cripples that refused to submit that cast seeds and threw up shoots despite their untowardness or decrepitness   

oddly he glimmered and learned peoples natures apart from them through the teaching of the woods and their confiding solitude

                                                                                                        

           Oh  the game   the game he liked to imagine

                                             was coalescing all the sand-and-stone concrete the bitumen tarmac the black-topped scabs which madeup the highways expressways rural routes city and village streets parking lots patios culverts extended waterways dams locks curbs runways railroad platformsanything and everything that laid upon and suffocated the earth(think Jill Mastersons(Shirley Eaton) demise in James Bonds Goldfinger) 

he liked to imagine them moving at once plate tectonics imagine what the wounds would look like after the coarse blunt scalpels crawled past  its sounds  and the while he never imagined it wouldnt happen or wouldnt come home to Americathe great clots wending their way to one of three cities New York Los Angeles or Chicago homing beacons the most obvious places glutted with carbon pheromones(pheromoans) their shroud emissions and exhaustion

he hadnt remembered this game in awhile

he moved to a small rural town

what triggered his remembrance  his eyes blurry from swimming laps  walking across the parking lot walking home  was the uncomely curl of floss laying at the edge of a rain puddle 

he had been looking forward to the anointment of soft rain

floss

why was spent floss laying in the parking lot like a dead pinworm or another parasite

he laughed darkly

           he remembered his very slight humoured disgust at finding an exhausted drooling rubber in a parking lot  on more than one occasion

the floss seemed a new low

unless it was just him

he stomped the tarmac hopeful it might finally kickstart his long imagined culling of poured scabs he imagined the floss could be the last element he needed like a pin pulled from a grenade to set the works in motion

                                                                              he paused

still disgusted

nothing  Nada

JesusChrist 

       he would rather there was fucking than flossing(its carelessness right up there against dogshit on a sidewalk or street when someone preferred not to clean up after their pet)(pet-peeves?)

at home hed warm up with a bourbon

1304,  Thursday,  16  2. 17

1424,  Thursday,  16  2. 17
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Shirley Eaton  Goldfinger  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=USD2Y7wRNgk

Devil Doll  Bourbon in Your Eyes  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=va3FY-i55bo