Pulver

The difference between ideas and notions

Lakes and oceans

Something about salt content

The width of mouths

The length of certain fingers

The art of palm reading and tarot cards

Chiromancy, I’m told

A straight flush.  Go fish.

I really don’t think we did it right

As deep as only a pen can cut

China in a bull shop and a finely crafted thousand yard stare

Broom and dust pan on hand

Passed down from generation to generation

Armor out of found bits of papier-mâché and lacquer

Holster hand hovering

Greedo versus Han
and the zombies in our heads

Fanning the hammer to send them off on their way

To draw water from a poisoned well

The pale horse whom follows hell
and the cart set before her

Constellations look nothing like they’re supposed to

And that,
ladies and gentlemen,
was the straw that pushed the camel through

Powder kegs teetering precariously

Working class heroes and farmers’ daughters

Certainly no room for dogs

Eggshells and bubble wrap

Breaking under the very same amount of pressure

Blood and physics

A gust of wind to help us on our way down

Fell asleep waiting for the car to warm up

Billy Pilgrim’s mum

Absolutely Dickensian

Wealth, time, and madness

Wisdom and paralysis

God save the queen,
but pawns can only strike diagonally

Comedy and tragedy

Close curtain

Roll credits

Closed casket

Lloyd

The unpaved road
eventually ate away your smile

One bump at a time

‘Never did like that feeling,
of falling and sinking

So you’ll take to the oceans

With all your aquaphors

Homemade rockets

Where exactly would you sail off to?

With your extensive knowledge of two whole knots

And neither will hold,
let alone keep your head above the water

Starboard from port

Ass from elbow

Or will you walk up on top?

On a wing and a prayer

Exit through the garden

Split the seas with a movement of your hand

With the Earth as witness

Rendered redundant

A trillion Zimbabwe dollars

Jade and tarnished silver

Hearts have no place

Useless, stubborn muscle

The same old story

An exercise in futility

Prolonging the inevitable

Tail in teeth

Chin tucked and swinging

Headless vipers that don’t know that they’re dead yet