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Monster Media 1993 #2
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S&M-13
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1993-06-20
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3KB
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65 lines
▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄
░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░Bottle Clock░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░by David Holloway
▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀
Bottle clock makes its rounds
half a fifth 'til morning.
Words glide across the room
looking for a place to light.
The sound of rain on
the steps answers me
and I keep talking.
As the bottle empties it
sobers up and wanders around
the table in front of me.
A few of the words get tangled
in my throat. I cough them discretely
into my hand and drop them under
the chair.
This happens quite a bit actually,
and by the time the bottle is empty
I am surrounded by wrinkled black words
like balls of burnt wire all around me
on the floor.
What to do with them? I am at a loss.
I look to my drinking partners-
a potted palm and a 60 watt yellow
bug light, but they are loathe to
suggest.
Then I spot the bottle clear
eyed and upright in the center
of the table.
Dead soldier my ass!
I grab him in one hand and a
fistful of words in the other.
and begin jamming them down his neck.
a few of them stick at first, and
he complains that they are unpleasant,
but as he fills up again
he becomes more drunken and
easy to control.
I keep scraping the words up with
the side of my hand and funneling
them into his mouth.
Eventually the floor is clear and the
bottle sits hiccuping gently full of
a strange dark liquor.
By now it is morning and
my father comes bursting in the
front door with the newspaper
shouting Now here's something
you don't see every day.
I just hope he doesn't want a drink.
-end-
Copyright (c) 1993 David Holloway