standing above her as she sat comfortably at the front desk he almost commented on the attractive design woven into her black silk blouse

however recognising what she worewhat they were he held his tongue

shes a small town librarian ferChristssake

                                                 yet somehowand she isnt alone 

shed bought into Americas new death culture

celebrated with whitebone skulls boiled and peroxided their gazing vacant eye sockets lightningbolt fissures

what was that about

                     used to be skulls were decorativeonly prominent during Halloween

now theyre oxymoronic  babies are toted around on their parents backs and chests and are dressed in garments that have skulls on them  queer that new life and Death should bump heads

her white skulls were intricately stitched and hung together across the face of her blouse topsyturvy suspended on spiderwebs

it was early March

maybe he was thickmaybe he missed the anniversary of one holocaust or another some epic slaughter maybe he was just ignorant  

though  as a species  were nearly stand alones  unmatched  stratospheric  killing our own kind

maybe it should be that we cant kick a can down an alley or a stone down a street without kicking a skull too hed have to buy himself some stout boots  flipflops werent gonna cut it

maybe the answer to every little disagreement is violencekill whoever disagrees with you

the echochamber unneeded is destroyed

everything is same-old same-old

and fucking boring

the librarian wears skulls

hed be sure not to ask her adviselet her manage the nuts and bolts of his account with the library 

like  say    oh       firing up the incinerator to burn books  or maybe the people who refuse to let go of them

1449,  Twosday,  6  3. 18 

1220,  Friday,  23  3. 18