I thought I would go

I thought I would go insane. That's when this curious notion struck me: perhaps I already am. That would explain two things: one, why these last few weeks or so of my life had been dominated by the grating songs of Eros Grillozottis and Trevicabellos and, two, why it is that whenever I look up to see the TV screen I see just one large, wide mouth: smiling; a single column of finely turned-out home guard processing through the gateway of a missing tooth; a misplaced comb of scarlet that, rather than pass through hair, allows hair to pass through it. That is why the rattle-snakes stay away; that is why the amateurs let their milky yellow and wear frocks to eaty blue and that is the way to heaven, they say.
When one lays with the flies, like tangled webs of aspirant easter flames to cool bunny and chase away CROW, one feels the tips of angels' wings stir shadows and sees the swirls there form a lamentary grotto. It's not the Autumn light; it's not the moon that sweeps aside those drying tears then, love: it is a barnacle...