Arsenic Lobster
poetry journal |
Issue Nine Winter 2005 |
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Tealight Gets a Paper Cut Robert Wynne His tongue throbs as blood clamors to flow back into the body. He swears he will never lick another envelope. The flap’s flavor mixes with copper until he’s minting fresh pennies from his mouth like some small-time slot machine. He fills the sink. He tilts his head back and tries not to swallow any of the coins but ends up nearly choking and spews a bright fountain toward the tub. He has forgotten what he was going to mail. Somewhere a creditor shrugs, an editor sets the last type for the new issue without including the poem promised by the Big Name. Tealight struggles to climb a huge pile of pennies, but he can’t secure a foothold – thwarted once again by the tiniest of things assembled in his path, filling his mouth, saturating the very blood he tries each day to smooth onto paper and send away. |
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About Robert Wynne |