Decahedron

"We're here," I said, parking the car.  "You ready to go?"     "Yep."  Joe took a quick swig of Dr. Pepper before dropping the empty can on the gravel parking lot.  "So how much money are we making today?"     "How does forty a piece sound?"     The enormous gray Ferris wheel rotated mechanically on the horizon as we headed for the main entrance, passing a family of rednecks on an outstretched picnic blanket.  The father redneck stared peculiarly at the two of us as he swatted the flies that encircled his family's meal.  A balding woman checked our passes as we passed through the turnstiles.  Another day at the amusement park.     At

.           Within a half hour of his arrival at the restaurant, the other employees had formed a fairly sold opinion of his character, and, although each opinion differed from the others, each individual was absolutely certain of the accuracy of his/her assumptions.      He had arrived with Brad Palmer, a close friend who had gotten him his high-paying job back at the large-scale grocery store where he had worked before taking a semester of college in Canterbury; he was due to start work within the week, and was quickly introduced to his soon-to-be coworkers.      "Hey, everybody," Brad began, "this is Jim Kalner.  He's been with us befor

. Again and again Self-betrayal and denial and Kittens in the street and Children in the street and Cars Moving and running and Kittens Playing and dying and Children Starving and laughing. The old and the young Die alike and alone. And alone. Count the apples on the tree and Watch them fall. .

. The tyranny of innocence, tinged by the Aroma of decay, presents itself sweetly Gift-wrapped for the adolescent Yesterday she was a child Only knee high to a bumblebee Undulating methodically, Rising in height and stature Enveloped in love Instead of the Terrible aroma of decay Or a feast for the birds. .

. Lumps of emotion clog her throat Like congealed blood or improperly Digested food traveling Back up the esophagus. She steps slowly forward On an impromptu stage, decorated With human garbage. Every prop is important And strategically placed. An elderly kitten smiles from the front row Baring crimson fangs As the audience erupts With applause; The young girl Shivers. .

. An angry bone breaks the skin Of an arm and exposes himself to the air, Causing bodily harm to the self-concerned host To the brain, superfluous despair. Conformity never fit well with this bone 'Unity' had no place in his mind. Incongruent with neighbors as heartless as those. He would never have felt at home there. The mouth sputtered insults for an evening or so Before accepting conditions and Seating itself in its blood. The fugitive bone, now finally freed Spent the rest of his days Dry, independent, Alone. .

       At the age of twenty-five, I had long graduated high school, and experienced petty relationships with petty romance and desire, but I had been taught---I had been conditioned---to believe that there is much more.  There is much more to be expected from a true, mutually loving relationship.  A true, passionate love overcomes even the most intolerable burdens, and I had been led to believe that anyone, myself included, was capable of experiencing such love.  So I went searching.. I opened the newspaper to the Want Ads, and my eye was immediately drawn to a single entry:  "SWF, 24, cute, lover of music, art, seeks young man with big hea

. The dead fly in the kitchen sink Espies a future similar to mine, Reeking of molded cookie crumbs And sour milk. His multifaceted insect eyes perceive The hidden deception and lies Of the smiling men on the television Screen, predicting perfect weather and Sunny skies. By piercing this intangible barrier, The dead fly has, in intellect, surpassed Even the most astute students of the Modern day. Long live the dead. .

. With a lit cigarette in my left hand I try to fit a square block in a circular slot As the scientist measures my brain Starched paper burns white The smoke marks its trail in the sky Locked out of the learning facility I don't even smoke But my cigarette does. Surrounded by lab coats, I give in. I give up And chained to the wall, again, I try To fit a square in a circular slot. I don't even smoke, But my lab coat does. .

. A gust of wind to fall my frail body A breeze to knock me Down The clown-faced children pass by Silently as I lie On the ground between a parked car and a pedophile. A sad clown:  the world's worst creation. A mob of nightmares, running From themselves. A breeze to knock me down between a pedophile And a parked car; that On retreat, he might Trip Over my corpse. .