Monday, July 11, 2011

Thousand: Four Hundred Thirty-Three

easy, dumping all that baggage. It’s not all easy flow. Bernie grimaces, sucks a breath, bears down, gasps, clenches his fists as a trapped bubble fights through a kink in his colon, slumps, as one more release seems to finish it off, he’s done, he feels wrung, what an experience, it’s psychedelic, his head throbs and blue and red paisleys dart like minnows around lotus leaf shadows. He’s thirsty. And the mug with that cloying, bitter, wondrous liquid in it refuses to return to the floor. He yanks it from the square hairy hand in which it hovers and in

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