Weird vibes in a vial
She holds in both hands
the next-to-last thought of Alex Gruba,
only man in the world to die
of an allergic reaction to “The Shoop Shoop Song”
several minutes stolen
from the digital watch of Father Time
a memory of the look on Satan’s face
the day one of the Damned said,
“Hey, the melba toast here is actually quite tasty!”
all the forgotten skills
of an entire lost race of poets
who composed epic ballads
using only a single pictographic symbol
whose approximate meaning is
“very large sneeze”
and four really close guesses
about the true nature of God
She worked for years
at finding Gonzo of the very highest order
and piece by piece
put it in the vial,
to intermix as it chose.
Now, the vial is full.
And as she prepares to drink,
she suddenly feels her age.
(and why not?
Isn’t everyone around her ready
To speak of their aches and pains,
Of the follies of the young,
Of their plans for retirement?
So easy to be told
That the number indicating your years
Is an organic death-knell,
Real as Fate
(if only Fate were real.)
She is no longer a youth,
no longer young,
no longer certain of her ability
to handle the totally unexpected with grace and charm
and sex appeal.
She cries. But she has the wisdom of her years.
Despite all her work,
she knows what she must do
She carefully stops up the bottle,
and locks it away,
never to look at it again
(and so lost in Adulthood is she
That she doesn’t even feel IT seep through the vial
and into her body
kissing her from the inside
With the breath of change…)
My name is Jeff Mach (“Dark Lord” is optional) and I build communities, put on events, and make stories come into being. I also tweet a lot over @darklordjournal.
I write books. You should read them!
My new book, “I Hate Your Time Machine”, is now available! Go pick it up!
