The parking lot is full, other eager bees in hieroglyphic holding pattern. Oh, the contusion of blooms, polka dot Mylar balloons, the bloody boxes of chocolates! Who first leered into pulse and spurt and built a steeple to those hollowed chambers? Sometimes in inchoate openings, forced zippers, the sprung ribcage of typewriter keys; all the dumb nubs beating out of kilter in aggregate.
by Aholaah Arzah of Port Townsend