illusivemeteor

The elusive quest for euphoria

Looms at the dripping tip

Of a hypodermic swoon.

Bulbous nightcrawlers fidget violently

In an arm of dirt,

Feint and bob

Like a panic-stricken prizefighter.

Hitting the slippery screwball

Takes exponential discipline –

Be patient, keep your hands back,

Think centerfield, just make contact.

Perching in a tree stand

During a snowy hunt

You must wait for the buck

To be captured by dreams

Before sanguinary sniping.

And finally, eureka!  Vacuum,

As the needle’s register submerges.

The tunnel’s threshold shovels

Darkness onto the light

Affording a crawling ocular eclipse.

The window at the 25 cent

Peepshow is bankrupt,

Foreshadowing a farewell.

The final fleck of iridescence

Constricts into the cherrywood

Tomb of temperance.

Another slosh of whiskey with “Croc,”

Our Australian escort,

And the time will again come

To dream of the mangy moose

Feeding with a breath on the plants

And an ear on the poacher.

They will be astray

When our slender maple wands

Puncture the still-glass river at dusk.

The furrowed smores

That tickle our bellies

With each shivering snore

Are held together

By the spank of beaver butts

Upon the sluiced Alagash.

The reverent stamina and dexterity

Of the natural law

Keeps our eyes dammed

And our bodies warm.

Breaking camp will unlock another meadow

Flinted by portages,

But for now I will urninate

On the leaves of this branching fern

And donate my design

To the germinating ecosystem.

I’m not sure when it started or how it can be stopped but this newscaster is at a loss.  I’ve been purpled with ideas from our readers.  I appreciate it.  I do.  I am only one man.

Really, I see it like you do each day.  Those damned Californians trying to illegally enter the United States.  It’s just not fair.  Their boobs are bigger and their wallets shimmer.  They are tan and blonde.  They are smart and know a lot of computer stuff.

I admire the Soviets for trying to help us out.  Their armies torched their trees and bombed their underbelly to create earth splitting terror.  Good job.  The Rubles are in the mail.

Of course I mean that sarcastically, like I had to tell you (as I watch another perfect body defect into Arizona - this one has freckles).  Cucumber wraps have already made their way to Vegas.  What’s next…surfing in Iowa?

Of all of the suggestions that were sent in, I bow most deeply to Jim in Mobile.  “We’ve got some experience with varmits.  You gotta flush ‘em out and then net ‘em.  You put a net or some kinda trap out where they be coming out, you got yourself dinner.  It may not glamorfied or nothing but toenails is good for arrows.  You can get other stuff too but you need a net.  Or a trap.”

Oh, the humanity.

Peeking through woodpecker’s work

In your seasoned fencing,

The hiss of pasta swelling

Is meandering about.

A batch of toffee brownies bake

For toddlers mesmerized

By Linus’s Great Pumpkin Patch.

Clyde, the Rhodesian, dismisses

An especial whimper of repose

While spooning his portly master

On this refrigerated October afternoon.

The gardener is pruning the shadow

Of a Colorado Blue Spruce

And is usurping its toppled bark

With a silver handled spatula.

With lemonade and a brownie

Cooling for him in the kitchen,

He swabs the last morsel

Of froth from the hedge

That watches over their home.

Startling news was recently reported from a nearly toothless couple from Liverpool.  “Our baby has bulimia,” they declare. 

 ”We just thought it was normal baby stuff, ya know?” sobbed husband Richard.  “I told my wife every time that kid blew up.  I did.”

Doctors contend that they couple may have been confused.  They have a pet rat named Acorn.  Doctors have seen Acorn come through their offices before.  “He’s been known to eat a mince meat pie or two and then send it back to us more minced than it was when we started,” joked lead Doctor Wentzel.  “Oh, that Acorn is one unique rat!”

Baby Briana’s father, Richard (aka Farmer Dick), was not amused by the good doctor.  “What happened to my baby?  This ain’t normal!!”

“Your baby got bulimia,” Dr. Wentzel stated in a way that only Farmer Dick would understand.  “We put a camera on her last night here in the hospital.  She’s 6 months old and we watched her crawl down to the cafeteria and eat an entire bag of chips, 6 chocolate bars, and 2 broasted chickens.  I ain’t never seen nothing like it.”

Babies thowing up has been commonplace in western culture.  “It’s like telling Mexico that it is not normal to eat beans,” one alarmed expert noted.  Scientists are miffed by this new development because it will inevitably delay their work on long lasting and tasting moon gum.  At the same time, they find it to be more curious than if carrot juice may help one live another hour longer in their life.

More news to come on this story that has rocked parents all over the globe.  Hospitals encourage all parents to bring their infants into emergency care if they seen vomiting patterns.  These hospitals note, however, that they will just tell parents that their baby has bulimia and there is nothing they can do.

Oh, the humanity.