Sunday, August 09, 2009



It's one of life's conundrums, like standing outside Carlsbad,
watching the bats fly out.
A scientist, furiously tabulating. Wingbeats per second,
multiplied by
square footage of cavern-entrance-hole.
Jesus, no. There cannot possibly be that many in there --

And so you are telling me stuff, and to the very degree my
ears hear, my eyes shut, and I keep saying [to myself]
"It's not possible" and you're not at all finished, while I'm
thinking "You could sell tickets to such an event."

-- And one, honest to God, got tangled on my head.
While I flailed about and screamed, Professor Angstrom
assured me, "These are not rabid or poisonous at all."
But you know what?
I did not care. I just wanted the damn thing out of my hair.

c. Ciprianowords, Inc. 2009

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