The time is crashing.

My brother is practicing his laughs, and I know this

is the beginning of the end.

I feel suddenly desperate (the octopus unleashed);

and craving more than sweet, aromatic leaves.

The flavor of my tongue has grown sour. My lips do not fit together.

My eyes are too far apart to function properly.

My intestines have forested into tangle, and they cause live

Accidents.

(These disasters are no lies.)

The Titanic is sinking. Bubonic Plague has hit.

We are Vikings again, and the sea turned to night.

But--

the charades are growing thin.

Let’s all gather once more ‘round the table, and

Confess to a bowl of Spaghettio’s.