Serial poet "EG" strikes again. 4/19, NaPoWriMo.
WHAT THE WORLD WAS LIKE
The beginning of time was like winning the lottery with a parking ticket.
The formation of stars was like an actual rabbit in an imaginary thicket.
The first movie was like a stranger knocking loudly on your trapdoor.
The first supper was like a police sketch of what killed the dinosaurs.
The first nightmare was like the decaying negative of a well-known photograph.
The Grand Canyon was like a basement apartment emitting the sound of a phonograph.
Being born was like challenging the record for longest game of Monopoly.
Going to church was like balancing a house of cards on the back of a flea.
Landing on the moon was like a funeral for a goldfish.
Going to college was like dialing a phone with your fist.
Falling in love was like swallowing a piece of a clastic heart.
The Manhattan project was like hitting the bull’s eye with a spastic dart.
Getting married was like the smell of the closed-down Laundromat.
The break-up of the Pangaea was like misplacing your grandfather’s favorite hat.
Running the marathon was like a harp crashing down on the sidewalk.
Building Paris was like spotting a whale from the skywalk.
Setting the fields on fire was like putting in contact lenses for the first time.
Debriefing the participants was like setting their eyeglasses on fire.
The reading of the will was like drowning in a cup of warm tea.
Downsizing the company was like eating breakfast in bed with the enemy.
Decimating the angels was like kissing in thunder snow.
Designing their graveyard was like looking in a mirror through a periscope.
Getting electrocuted was like dropping an anchor on a seagull.
Lucid dreaming was like fucking inside a burnt-out light bulb.
Writing my biography was like sewing leaves onto a dead tree.
Reading my biography was like pulling the legs off a dead millipede.
The pre-party was like water-skiing off the back of a hearse.
The after-party was like an abortion in reverse.
Growing old was like slow-dancing with your doppelganger.
Dying was like writing your name in the sand with a wire hanger.
The beginning of time was like winning the lottery with a parking ticket.
The formation of stars was like an actual rabbit in an imaginary thicket.
The first movie was like a stranger knocking loudly on your trapdoor.
The first supper was like a police sketch of what killed the dinosaurs.
The first nightmare was like the decaying negative of a well-known photograph.
The Grand Canyon was like a basement apartment emitting the sound of a phonograph.
Being born was like challenging the record for longest game of Monopoly.
Going to church was like balancing a house of cards on the back of a flea.
Landing on the moon was like a funeral for a goldfish.
Going to college was like dialing a phone with your fist.
Falling in love was like swallowing a piece of a clastic heart.
The Manhattan project was like hitting the bull’s eye with a spastic dart.
Getting married was like the smell of the closed-down Laundromat.
The break-up of the Pangaea was like misplacing your grandfather’s favorite hat.
Running the marathon was like a harp crashing down on the sidewalk.
Building Paris was like spotting a whale from the skywalk.
Setting the fields on fire was like putting in contact lenses for the first time.
Debriefing the participants was like setting their eyeglasses on fire.
The reading of the will was like drowning in a cup of warm tea.
Downsizing the company was like eating breakfast in bed with the enemy.
Decimating the angels was like kissing in thunder snow.
Designing their graveyard was like looking in a mirror through a periscope.
Getting electrocuted was like dropping an anchor on a seagull.
Lucid dreaming was like fucking inside a burnt-out light bulb.
Writing my biography was like sewing leaves onto a dead tree.
Reading my biography was like pulling the legs off a dead millipede.
The pre-party was like water-skiing off the back of a hearse.
The after-party was like an abortion in reverse.
Growing old was like slow-dancing with your doppelganger.
Dying was like writing your name in the sand with a wire hanger.
posted by Chris Tonelli @ 6:19 AM
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