cursed teller
of stories
in the foyer
down stairs,
weaving
octopi
and chum- out
his mouth
into
flashing lenses,
like figure 8
weevils
"we went
talking in the
skies" he
slurs, ballooning
stews from
his palms like
children-spawn, ooze
onto tile floor
where
lobotomy blondes
lap it up
like dogs
the room
smells of
meat
and sour wine, respectively
