I shot schadenfreude in the head so we
could rebuild our culture. I paved
my kitchen floor with banana peels and no
one laughs when I perform perfect figure
eights. A welfare mother was elected
president and all the other candidates were shot
to Mars. Apparently, one needs a rocket
to survive the void. This wasn’t mentioned
in any ancient texts. No more sweater
dogs. No more children painted for sex. Now,
we look in each other’s eyes when we insert
the blade. We ask pardon before each twist.
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