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i had a dream where you were the beautifully poulticed finger of a caped monkey and you passed the time singing hushed doo-wop while drinking capri suns under the jungle canopy. then the poachers came, along with arsenio hall. elephants the size of elephants broke through the vines and into the ill-fashioned hut (legos? c'mon) and there were lasers and biscuits, i mean hard fuckin biscuits hurled through the air like frisbees of granite, and the screaming was akin to that of capistrano swallows swallowing each other through hotwired megaphones and basically it was not a party. the monkey flew upward and hid behind a bluish cloud. the sun was laughing. then i woke up, frumpled, harpooned, irate and elixired, tracing my hands through the air in patterns of obscure hyeroglyphs and all the while trying to avoid seeing my own eyeballs, removed, in a caesar salad, on my lap, staring not back at me (that would be too obvious) but rather at the uniform cut of the romaine. alarmed, i shuffled. when i gathered my shadow, we crept out of the room, went to an underpass, found a mule and went off to mexico, in search of misadventure and a way to inventory that selective coma, awake or not awake, champagning the lifeless gracias.
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