doctor, i don’t have the mopes

i really don’t know what
the cat is thinking, or what
the dogs are thinking, or
even what the chickens are
thinking. i pretend i do. i
think they know what i’m
thinking. a lot of people
don’t care. i don’t care. he
asked have you ever had
suicidal thoughts. “doesn’t
everybody?” i asked. “do you
like the rain?” he asked with
a broken tongue. i looked
past his lazy eye to the peter
paul rubens’ painting, “the
drunken hercules,” hanging
on the wall. he asked if i enjoy
writing poetry of a sunless night
or a lucent day. i said i enjoy
playing parachute roulette.

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