Tequila blood bath dance

Smashed, I dance around on slices of broken ceramics. A pulpy mixture that was once my feet and a bottle of cuervo make their new home on the floor. My toes, newly webbed, decide it’s time. I drew a bath, one that reminded me of a hot day in Minnesota. Humid and pretentious. The knob had a new look that I thought I had seen else where. Ten seconds crawled by and home depot came out of the shadows. They have great faucets there. Refreshment swept over my new modification; and the water felt like home. Splashing around induced an impulse: I swiped the orange soap and slathered it all over my new fins. I contemplated a lesson in scuba but I think snorkeling is way more my cup a tea. Unraveling the day, most fantastical moments come to mind. A great martian once told me, paop yeor paiants. Alet. No idea what it meant, still don’t. It’s a great conversation starter. I am still hoping for the day I tell someone and they respond excitedly back, “that means…!!!!” So far, no dice. Still wondering…