They both lifted their cups at the same time.
I asked him, "where to?"
He disappered through the gate.
One by one. Fading bus stop.
A progression of events.
"So, where to?" I say
(more to myself, than anything else.)

The otter by his house had a strange temper
reminiscent of a Victorian era...estranged couple.
A connesuier of sorts, sort of lifting it to a toast,
taking in all the smell of the creek beside.
Exhaled from a garbage bin.
Flipping its tail in furiousity,
Multicellular madness.
A carefully orchestrated routine of applying
facial material.

There's an otter living in the creek by his house,
quite used to the smell coming from it.
I imangine it lived there all its life,
like a lonesome old widow.
A multitude of birds gathered close,
huddling to listen to his detached rant.

I'm not quite sure how to proceed.

The paint is peeling by the house's side.
The vines were feelings, thoughts that coalscesed.
Together, they formed a ceasesless mesh of air and life
Apart from the endless leaves and stalks that littered the ground,
there were bitter gourd and butter peas
grown from bathtubs carefully placed in the trunk of his car.

Paint preceded concrete.

I don't know
what half the tools in his shop are for.
There were knives with hooks.
Bookshelves that held books
on an unknown subject.

They both lifted their cups in the same way.
I ask him, "Wh-
"Shut up!" he snapped.
The cups richocheted from the walls.

I looked at him lividly.

"Try driving at night with this shit over your head," he said.
Claire looked at me with his bloodshot eyes.
As a doctor, I knew that he lacked sleep.
I decided to ask him the indirect question,
"Who waters those plants?"

"Do you know anything about inoculation?" he asked.
A weird question, I thought.
I had no idea how to proceed.
"No," I fingered my KFC.
Claire blurred to sleep.

He stared at the angular fish nightlight with his closed eyes.
It dangled from the socket of a dessicated light bulb,
spinning on a thin wire of electricity and gravity.
It was taped with band-aids.
The corner of it was hand-made.

I picked up the cups between my legs, remembering to press them
against each other tight like an egg,
recalling the last time I picked up a conversation between my legs.
"Keep the flowing coming, baby."
I grimaced.

A deep river was to our right,
the car tilting that way.
The back wheel spun away from us,
growing more distant with each rotation,
rolling us to our deaths.
I held my baggage tightly.
tight like an egg.
My doctor's instinct told me to make sure
that Claire was breathing properly, and that his seatbelt sign was flashing yellow.
Quote by icaneatcatfood
On second thought, **** tuning forks. You best be carrying around a grand piano that was tuned by an Italian
Last edited by Laces Out Danny at Aug 9, 2008,
what?? thats strange its funny though.
good ol drunks.
a little lost.....
- "One by one. Fading bus stop." - I love this line. Bus stop is such a fantastic pair of words, so deep and meaningful.
Your opening verse is wonderful.

- "Emanating" - this repeated is a bit unconventional and is a little careless.

- "furiousity" - hemmm, odd word to use, its certainly original.

- "Apart from the endless leaves and stalks that littered the ground,
there were bitter gourd and butter peas" - Love the flow here.

- "I reviewed the road through the rearview mirror" - I see what you are trying to do, but it doesn't work for me.

- "Claire" - The repetition of this could of been altered to her on the second occasion very quickly after each other.

Your closing and opening sections are superb. Not much esle one can say apart from that. Very articulate with beautiful words. Quite perfect.

Digitally Clean