scribble #6

Tender me send all my bad behaviour to the post office of St. Antonius the great, see how he opens the package his feet not even touching the sweet ants that ramble to his bottom and how he christens them all in the name of Coca-Cola and the empty space, sweet dropdrip mumbled prayers on their heads, baby you're a rich girl once the bleeding stops, large Pent-(WHORE-)houseetiquette, when the hammer cracks the seashell your ears run normal again and as we speak another package arrives full with limbs of the silently parted, they know where to find a lion if they need one and you don't but your demonstration impressed a whole bunch of other creatures (BUT NOT THE POSTOFFICE) and now they gently listen to my-your-their stories in the calming dust of a maybe-seashell-flower-field