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
