this morning #9.

this morning, several species of small furry animals were gathered together in a cave. they were grooving with a pict. scotland was great this time of year, isn’t that just great for scotland? the skies were less grey. the phonograph echoed full, bouncing off of the high ceilings above her living room couch. she rubbed her cold, tattooed arms & sipped her warm coffee as the animal chirps echoed around. the fib. the untruth. the emptiness of the room. her lover had gone away. the avant garde pink walls. the space above. it all had expanded. when she first told a fib, it was months or so in. no need for a good fib til then. then it wore thin & then came the sin & then all she could say was “thank god. i win.”