A Crack in the Pavement Issue 5 2017-05-19T15:13:18+00:00

A Crack in the Pavement

The world is a massive, underdeveloped catastrophe waiting to happen. It sits on the ledge with a Jacobin mouse rat and curls its toes in the most endearing of gestures. Because of the solidity of the fourth movement it envelopes the skin of the forcep and tin. The rocking movement of the vehicle portrays a tragedy of the most magnificent proportions. Theatrical though it may be, the crowd is culturally sluggish and enjoys the greasy spectacle. Putting a house in the frying pan and lifting it back out in almost three seconds is an adventure well worth taking. Upside down and topsy turvy, that is the atmosphere that will permeate your ear canal with fluids.

The massive worm decays on the second boulevard. Every day brings its decaying matter closer to the earth, closer to something especially nice! The insects have a feast day and pop champagne in honor of the president. The decaying worm slowly recites poetry as its body exits stage right. And the oceans are not purple anymore, but grey.

A crack in the pavement answers the call, bleeding through the barrier like a gem on holiday. The subconscious collapses under the weight of three siamese twins. Windows shatter, cats meow… Don’t forget to air the laundry and listen to the humming birds.

Where did this sinkhole come from? It formed on Sunday, and spread with each passing skin reversal. The alluvial plains teach a lesson to the unlistening ground mice. Blood red porcupines flatten themselves and roll unto the driveway of your family’s old home. You remember this home vaguely, but probably only through old polaroids and lint. I think that something monstrous happened here, but you contradict me at every step. Don’t forget the scar underneath your bellybutton, the one in the shape of a fish. Reinforced concrete continues its parade on the highway made of misshapen hair. A mountain range shifts in the ether, and creates a spindle of kindness. You disregard and go sifting through the rubble. California is earthquake country after all. The woman killed in the two story building cries, but her damage was not spectacular. As she disappears into the forgetful ocean the building regurgitates itself into silence. A photograph is all that remains.

If you measure the cause of the disaster, you will see that crystal shards do not much agree with hematites. All happiness calls forth the enterprising mouthpiece. He says much to disagree with and much to scorn, but little to eat. You eat him anyway, and the next day when you pee him out it burns sharply. Adam grabs your penis and tears if off with a smile. Together you plant it in the garden and watch the sunflowers grow. Inside the sunflowers birth little antelope spiders, which you devour and rub on each other’s bodies. A playful solution, but not a bold one.

A few months later and the sinkhole has grown entirely too much. The great reversal is at hand, but you had not prepared for it. Oh well and good riddance. Now they build the road into the sky, but you bury your eyes deep in the ground. There is warmth there, not airy rationality. Much preferring this, you prepare the dirt for its revolt and take back the air. Spreading the earth with brown, eating the clouds and shooting the mushrooms for sport. This is your fate, silly as it is.

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