tortoise
by Steven J. Serafiani
I tore through dumpster
street by street- brisk
strokes. The tortoise blue
blur heaved nothing
at me. Entered teahouse
triage and took a
barstool bath as
chamomile pressed all
it had. Mexico City
just sits there man-
a fuck you to caballero
clown grit, what
a strop. She, being my
sister, prattled on too
much about prattling on
too much or if the nod
I gave. Chinoise oolong
ceiling looked like self
putty; hazel knives lingered
for a spell in salt. Why
am I an asshole?
[ ]
Chin wobbled as I go
bald; tortoise.
Curioser and curioser