When the fishbowl shatters think
fleetingly of your deepest dream. A hand in the garbage disposal
searching for something still breathing
between the blades. As the vibrant blue of profanity from a
pretty girl's mouth sits on your
palm, feet dangling, don't leave the oven on, and don't forget the
shovel. The grass must be wet, it
will keep you on your toes until the dark, moist earth is placed over
your eyes, muffling out all
comfort. Scrape the grit between your teeth to understand. You will
remember smelling smoke.