Photo by Tom Chambers via Magpie Tales
The fruit punch was spiked.
So we all got drunk. And leering.
We sharpened our comments,
jabbed about. Perhaps one cannot
be a genius about imaginary things.
But even in our absent-mindedness,
I could remember the deer,
poised on a table sniffing
a gold-plated flower, maybe
I’ve lost my thread. Regained
puny sense. Brown-haired girl
waiting for her momma. No, it was
a thought. And then it was real.
Even real–when you try to peel off
those layers–you find nothing.
Prompt: I got this surreal image from Magpie Tales and thought, why not? It’s got a dream-like quality. Then I thought, how to tie this to the Writers Digest Day 24 Prompt, which is to write about something lost then regained. Haven’t you had the experience of trying to follow a thread, and then it got broken off, leaving you wondering? What the fuck was I thinking? What the fuck was she thinking? When that got too boring, then you just make stuff up. Whatever. Because it’s probably–too much and nothing. Just like the dream I had last night which made no sense whatever when I awoke but made absolute sense while it was happening, and was even somewhat pleasurable while it lasted.