No sudden movements, keep your drink half full and blame it on the gin.
New text: you avoided me last night. No, I didn’t. Yes, you did. But I didn’t see you there, baby. That’s hard to believe. Five years and I’m tired of pretending I care. But you did once? I did…and didn’t you? That’s a silly thing to ask. Well, let it go then. I’m trying but I didn’t expect to see you here. A welcome surprise, I’m sure. No, it is…I’ve missed you. Ha! I mean it, don’t be such a bitch about it. Oh yes, I remember why this didn’t work out. Don’t be so sarcastic. Stop telling me what to do. Maybe this was a mistake. Obviously this was a mistake. Disingenuous bitch, he mutters. Cheating bastard, she grumbles under her breath.
I give, devise and bequeath, in the event that I am dead as a proverbial door knob, thank the Lord and let us pray, all the commas I have amassed in my clause-heavy-handedness, again I give, devise and bequeath to punctuation-poor languages, whatever and wherever they may be, I not knowing them by name to my derision and my shame, as I was a know-it-all by trade, to be theirs, absolutely and without restriction, until they likewise grow up and come of age.
I, one who has measured rage out in teaspoons and despair by the cupfull, will wash my tainted hands clean in the river beside where we’ve spread out a coat of many colors on green grass and soft earth, a full basket beside us, wine poured with liberality into tulip glasses and open mouths.
I will bring one happy smile to our quiet picnic, I will keep it in my pocket, softly wrapped in white cloth and red ribbons and bring it out after the wind dies down and the fireflies come out.
Never mind the call back press zero for the operator not that she’ll be any help para espanol oprima el dos etc., whatever, she’s painting her nails at the central desk downstairs blowing them dry and saying mhmm too many times to mean it.
When each line you write begins those fucking sons of bitches and the words are drowning in too much ink, wounded by repeated slashings, I think it’s time to put the pen down and back away from the desk
And often her thoughts came by dragonflies savage and beastly and spitting up fire in cages, all monsters whimper a while with bloody fists pressed against red-rimmed eyes, until dry and raging bruised and battered they rise.
Kingfishers’ feathers indigo pluckings no more the matter sunk low in the cushions pride shivered a moment with ballads forthcoming mandolin on the mountain too fond of cursing warbled death, played it closely in coy ponds, froze over kissed on four Sundays shrugged off an indifference all drenched in a wet rain left in a hurry the silence was humming lightning flickered with thunder he scorned a red lady paid off with a cradle.