Gobbet

There is a huge bomb in the middle of a big city. It is about to go off. I order for the bomb to be twice the size. Big enough to destroy the entire city. I was near the edge of town when it blew up. Some other people are around me. The shock wave flies at us bringing pieces of buildings. I'm dodging bricks.

A fragment of raw flesh. Patch of flesh that is still showing. A mouthful of meat. In France in the middle ages, they used to chop live human bodies apart with meat cleavers. They fill their teeth with muscle and fat. They stroll through French lush courtyard gardens full of green leaves and bright colorful flowers. The walls are stacks of large, dark rectangular stones with small patches of moss. You can pour your hand into a bowl. Discharge a puddle of hot glue. Pick up the gobbet of boogers on the eighth grade hallway. Science sucks. Bluebeard's blue balls hideaway in a lonely pirate's cove. Three elephant seals plan a homage to Ernest Goes to Camp. He dunks the Fat Kid. They all cry like little girls in first period. He gets sun in his eye. It goes behind his eyeball and lights up his brain. He has a warm itch on his frontal lobe. Hashtagperiodbloodonmyeyelid.

In the dang lake. The pier is too long. I peer at the deep thirsty water, but I cannot touch it. Lots of slimy dumb fish near the bottom. The clouds are coming in and getting darker. I think the omnipresent trees are shaking. There may be microscopic squirrels scurrying under my skin, says the magical wizard hanging on my sock. It's stupid!, she says as she fills her gobbet hole with goblin pudding. The turkey from the fourth sector scrapes a knife with his talon. Leftover thanksgiving dinner in Mid-August. Sorry the blue is so loud. She is banging on my wall from the bathroom, shattering the tile, open sea ways, leaky vessels, appropriate amounts of rosemary in the soup we blended yesterday for our mothers as they lay in the tree north of Sleepy Hollow, their heads falling off but almost finished with a long, serious game of Life anyway.