Where Olam Spat

Trilobites purred under the skin bumps. Moist flaps seethed. A door opened. What stood there showed wide wet eyes but Olam closed the door quickly. A pill, a nap. Blood in the blender. Gloves without fingers save time. Get in the car, visit Saturn, which is blissfully free of nails. I can’t get out of my apartment because I can’t get out of my head. Three men are here. They offer you a box. Don’t take it. Let your creative self go free. Good, now you’ll never see it again, what a relief. There are certain things you don’t want to find in pie. Rocking on his heels, Olam tried using oxygen to get rid of the mice. There was a key in the drawer, but why bother? Most languages have a word for it, but everyone’s afraid to say it except the Chinese. Up and down and up and down, oh joy, another sunrise and all I had to do was explain nothing to the indifferent night.

Author: mattamati

Nothing remarkable to report. Born in suburbs. Diffidently educated. Used to do other jobs, now he does this one. Fancies self a writer.

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