Communion

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“Stop! You must curtail your bizarre behavior,”
says the man with the stick,
“You really must,” he says
adjusting his hat.

But, he’s not talking to me,
he’s talking to the creature we become—
in the stretch back to the first realm.

“Adjust behavior and commiserate elsewhere,”
says the fat man
“You really must,” he says
poking the creature’s chest.

The creature, call us Communion,
howls indignant and turns back to the wall—
string dangling from slippery hands.

“Non-compliance is unacceptable,”
shouts the rigid man,
“Unacceptable and you must stop,” he shouts
and we pay em no mind we pay em no mind.

We are disconnected from that world,
there is only blood here and glue and string—
this creation nothing else.

Endnotes

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Franklyn Monk

Poet. Geek. Science fiction aficionado. General freak.
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