THE GARDENER HAD A RIFFLE

was it a dream or
was I drunk? Was I
insane or had I stepped into another world? “Art
is what’s behind reality.” I heard a voice say

oh! There are voices here?
“There are voices everywhere.” the voice said. “What’s hard is not to
hear any voice. That’s why you guys have a skull
It’s isolating stuff. Great device”

oh my god.
“You should try removing your skull once in a while.” continued the voice

isolating. Is that a word? I didn’t know, really
I look it up in the dicdicdictionary diction harry dick dick harry harry
There it is written: Writers sometimes lead isolated lives
Okay

. . .next. This is what I was wanting to write down. A
dragon or green tea
An eagle or black tea
A horse or oolong from Sweden. I
could drink a dog, but what’s a dog? Maybe it’s
Cinnamon tea. A cat is Assam tea. I was singing that as I
was walking under the trees in blossom
The gardener, he saw me
He took his riffle
He aimed at me for fun
He had an unexpected jerk
that made him pull on that trigger. Now there is a
bullet flying towards me

I stop singing, yes
I am thinking: “As long as light can bounce back on that flying bullet, it’s
going to show as a full line, the bullet. If there is any moment when light cannot
bounce back on it, the flying bullet’s projection in space will look like it’s
a dotted line
If I can squeeze myself into a gap on that wished for dotted line, I’m safe. I am
safe.”

so that’s what I did. That bullet didn’t get it. It didn’t get me
“I should take a nap.” I thought. As I laid down, the
gardener believed he had killed me

in my dream, I saw the mystical gold atom we’ve been talking about. You
know: The one that’s stuck at the center of the Universe. It was just floating there, not
stuck

::: ::: :::

[Picture: The Gardener Had A Riffle by reading_is_dangerous]