You mumble, your head burps nonsense, words a river of babble-rousing slippitude. Your foot is sucked into your mucky mouth.
Roughly hewn orange trees produce fleshy furniture for unforgettable chatter that exists only in your shower along with the mildew creeping up like kudzu.
Notes are stuffed into your pockets along with old lottery tickets sour ball wrappers and the stink of omnipresent failure.
Now seated at the sweet wood table you are certain the Merlot just compared you to a poorly rendered copy of a Van Gogh self-portrait. The Pinot scoffed and muttered you should be so lucky.
Dressed in a suit of tightly woven flies your host glimmers in sync to post disco Social Distortion’s ‘I walk the line.’
Kohlrabi is served as an appetizer it is slavered with slivered almonds floating in a Thai chili paste. The server is robed in fine French cheeses you are encouraged to grab the fussy pussy
Again your phalanges knot your tongue while life slips ahead where you can see your present careening off the road into the river that runs through Lilliwap.
EDITOR’S NOTE: This poem was selected from entries submitted to our Creative Challenge Series #22: First Sentences, which required that the first sentence in the text must be used as given. Read other Creative Challenge winners. To find out how to participate, go to Creative Challenges.