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a poem by J. D. Nelson

Extra Egypt on Brown Bread for Angels

9:00 AM. Handbells in plain sight of the Charmin wall in
aisle six. The old ones come above ground for stretching
and sunning. Sure feels good on these old hips. Greenskin
lookalike, sick from the television water. I'm asleep with a
werewolf dream crawling out of my ears. Weren't you a
machine? The Clark Kent thing didn't work. There's a cobra
in my candies. Eeeee! Egg igloo. Heck, I made a friend at
the barbershop. A human heart in a baggie. The Ross of
Wisdom Dimes. This will be the last bowl of popcorn you'll
ever smoke.

© by J. D. Nelson

Gutter Eloquence Magazine ~ Issue #12 ~ November 2010