Wednesday, 12 September 2012

Snip

Be kind.

Take your squawking soul out for kimchi, egg fried rice.

Dedicate Tuesdays as Wild West Days and spend the afternoons atop a pony, sipping bourbon, winking at all the pretty ladies in your cosmic saloon.

Breakfast in champagne and red silk while caressing the bubbles with your toes.

Lock all your assignments in pirate chests and cackle as they sink to the depths of the sea; watch the sharks whip their tails to avoid the plummet.

Plan a trip to Cambodia, to Christmas Island, to all of Jupiter’s moons.

And snip those maths-homework dirty-dishes have-to friends

from your life, close the doors in their face, listen:

I know I am adorned in cliches but this world does not tilt and timeout for the hours you have wasted mired in should.

It is as easy as I promise; it is easier.

You’re at a pair of swinging doors with bonsai shears in one hand, the Jack of Hearts in the other. 

Spit in the sawdust and burn a bridge and stamp your cockspur boots in the ashes.

Whoopee! You’ve the afternoon to yourself,

to paint your toenails gold and your fingernails crimson,

to be kind.

Perhaps you will become addicted to this moment.

Feel the phlegm in your throat. Feel the weight of the metal in your palm. Snip.

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