BEDBUGS I

Bedbugs I

click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.


On a cold day in March I step in puddles
and don't worry about whether ten red
roses watch me, or lightning strikes
and I jump when they jump as she
throws sticks and stones and bricks
and FLASH! The wooden room is
the language of spies, she says, and
in a month like March, I'm inclined to believe
her. Puddles laugh at me, black ice
too deep under bridges; brackets and
bowls of clues I penetrate. The mystery
trees clatter and sance in March wind, red
balloon circles and green ribbons
approach me and my kind as we dance in
arcs and circles. Brown hat is
where I left it, and that's where I shall
return, in the Winter. It's a long way off,
I said, as I realized and drive my pronoun
car to the station. Nobody's around to pass
the hat and make me realize she wanted to
be in the mountains of madness and modernization
towards peaks and valleys and trees and
into the shape of a monster which reveals
its form as it goes along. After my nap
I gather my grammar and
coherence. I step towards the stage
and announce to the doctors, "What I
forgot to say was..."


next week's seven phrases/groups of words:

-frostbitten
-angels know why
-spectacular
-no need to fight over it
-ringing down the hallway
-laughing that only I can hear
-blocked memory

Adam
click here for next week's Bedbugs.