I knew my hand would freeze&burn the
moment shall I shall wake up shall

three options many choices two feelings many feelings

Sunday Morning

so these men we don't kNOW how many exACTly

these men LAUGHed and sTALKed ‘em pigeon makin’em 

TOo tired they couldn't fly no MorE

should-a heard….cryin-out for some help…. one strange thing I’D ever heard! 

SOBER hunGRy they cooked these OWL-ish, TOo feathersoME crEatures worn Their darn beaks round ‘EM necks

can’t aVOID it, caN you! lIGHTing struck eveRy sIngle one of Them, friZzled ‘em men gold like fried eggs..

that, mind You, iS The version i'd tell my grandson.

the stORY TELLINGly happened like this:

the two CROOKS cooked them AND wore the briC-A-Brac beaks around their necks

victoriously DaRIngly innocently

and turned to pigeons themselves

they mocked each other until they couldn't fly anymore

then the earth split up, sputtERing in rageS, carrying each of them off like drifting ON AN ISLAND

Hot with boiling yIPPIng treachERous magMA and all horrifying Sound effectS

desperate to be connected with one another, one of them made a leap

into the abyss he went

falling in a mad trance, only those so beautifully young would know of I'm sure

the NEXT man wailed for help

 but someone misread his OUTburst for a couRAGEOUS war Growl and

he was wALLOPed up whole

fatigue famish DESIRE conspire

mERMaid flocking Around, Happening Around, wET the residue of pigeon feather with their sCaly fins and drEnched long hair

tangling me, conTEmplating whether to let me live to tell this story

what happened afterwards, like any ReAl story,

we shall never quIte KNOW.