.....the health department came bumping along down the dirt road in a very official black car to inquire as to the accusations that i was raising sheep for nefarious purposes so i laughed in their fat pasty faces and promptly nailed the door shut, made some tea from a noxious weed and donned the bottom half of a skunk suit with a festive avocado bikini print top and resumed my mercury experiments which consisted of shooting the lovely stuff from a hypodermic needle into the bathtub to watch it scatter then congregate back unto itself as i believe all things bright and arrogant should do but then my skunk tail, being the rather unwieldy bit of glamour that it was, became firmly ensnared in the small insect filled space between the tub and eucalyptus tree growing in the bathroom and i found myself trapped like a rat and the record player was skipping madly and all time became a rather ominous tick tock slowing down and i realized that some worlds were small and horrid places and i turned up my eyes in supplication to the aggravated crow who kept company with me against his better judgement and he sucked them from my giving head like flavorful lozenges and when he later took to flight, there i went- away and with him, away.......  

"if i should pass the tomb of jonah i would stop there and sit for awhile because i was swallowed one time deep in the dark and came out alive after all." c. sanburg 

i intend to wait until he is sleeping, head thrown back- drool sliding over his cruel lips. i will move slowly on hands and knees to sneak to the cupboard and slide from the cluttered drawer the knife whose handle is a bound and gagged woman carved from the horn of a narwhale and with it, i will slice the puppeteer catgut strings that bind me to the hands of the faltering dauber who animates my squalid existence and if i remember for the distraction of freedom may be too great, i will slit his throat before i light the match to reduce his cottage to the fire that will light my way through the hills i have never seen but through the crack in the heavy wooden front door.  

oh but for the grace to die in a place where there are no sounds of the joviality of humans in their careless celebration of reckless progression. this place high in the mountains, that body collapsing into a bed of pale green, that ancient mind accepting the gaze of the dark circling bird, those lungs absorbing one last breath tinted by sage and then all is still but the wind and just as the flapping insect ignorant of the change it's wings will make across the world, this lucid release of life will affect the thought of someone somewhere be he the man kicking the dog from the porch or the painted woman sleeping on the golden bed.