Table spinning; an animal teahouse and he felt alive.
“He’s a regular” she said. “He comes in here regularly.”
“It’s quite bizarre.” she said.
“Well, some people look for that sort of thing.” she said.
“Still, it’s quite bizarre.” she said.
Drinking mouths out of bottles ’till the bottom hits the top,
from the ceiling to stained linoleum remnants of tequila gold stare at a worm that’s struggling to breathe.
There were red and blue lights that spun around three-hundred-sixty degrees and lit up the lifelong insomniacs out for a midnight walk,
their insides were red and blue, sometimes it was just black.

In the truck, on the bed. He’s upside down, but it’s all in his head.
“I can’t believe he’s not dead.” she said.
“It’s quite bizarre.”
He had a tag on his toe that said he was still alive.

“He said it was an animal teahouse and I felt alive.” he said.
“What did he say?” she said
“He said, ‘He said it was an animal teahouse and I felt alive.” she said.
“He said, ‘He said’?”
It was all quite bizarre.

There was a morphine drip slipping through his veins that threw up tequila gold on the rocks.
There was a worm that crawled through the cracked linoleum into the dirt and on and on and on where it took its last breath.