are you not cold & lonely? come unto my flame, mothra.
these feral shadows cling to the walls, winking, all allure-allure. twenty inch waists to rival audrey hepburn, faces almost cyclopean, their heads amidst their halos like one big fat eye. but whatever. these chain-saw haunts are how i know who i am. & so it came to be that mordicai started to have dreams, night after night, of amusement parks. the towers & loops of roller coasters. the grimacing faces of the house of mirrors, or horrors. pink & blue cotton candy clouds bobbing on sticks. guys with tommy guns. which means you know what kind of memories i've been doused in. smiling harlequin, the jack of diamonds, johnny scowl. you know that boy- he sticks to me like a reflection in a mirror, like harpo on lucy. i think he's excited about the leather jacketing, latching onto minor arcana & shaking hands. claws, rather, like crayfish. shoot when you see the whites of their eyes. you know how jolly he gets when muskets are discussed. i mean, before it was leather, it was red coats. wigs, he's gotten over, but not powder. my predictable boy! how i miss your even teeth, my lad, your twinkle & your gay blade. lets steal a helicopter & ride it to the palace! idea on top of idea. lets go gather poppies, lets go collect ears. loving the vietnam war with all his little heart. enough with the tilted chin & thoughtful glance! all bound up in the gates of funland, or cedar point, or geauga lake or where-ever. your kingdom, cuz. cue the gunshots.