Tap tap tap tap...I love you so much it burns in my heart, and makes me call the Cable Guy. Not
Jim Carrey. I love you so much I squeal with delight, like a child on New Year’s Eve. Does Jim
Carrey? I love you like I was a used bucket of paint water, with every hue of every pure love in
the finest droppings of my soul, in the sewage and stains of devotion. How I long to come
crashing down like a prank on a staircase and come face to face with you at the bottom, each
missing a tooth.

ADVENTURE

There is a house that holds a moat, and it lies on my route throughout the town. I can not wait
for the first sputter of snow, when the specks checker the gutter, and freeze over the lazy,
affluent river. The sons of knights share these sidewalks, but are tucked in their mistresses’
beds when I roam. I sing with tears in my eyes, as loud as I want, and no lights are flicked on. I
revel. They would beat my ass at parcheesi. If only they could catch me. I’ll sleep when I’m
dead. The trees have lost their clothes in the bushes like horny teenagers, and the bushes will
prick back, drawing blood before you grab your drawers. Hot, thick, that will dribble into the nail
and pool, that will fall like rain and steam on the snowy streets. The crunch of snow adds
percussion to my hollow concert, until you can feel the pushback of a timpani. Imagine your
fingers are drumsticks, wooden and smooth. Hold your own fingers. Squeeze. Snow.