Ever-prepared to twist a flask
through momentary fence slat openings–

tirelessly striving
to bounce among the crows
while somehow maintaining resistance
to cherry pie allures–

this bagel hoarder fails to stay a caricature;
his age includes his visions,
inquiries and musings.

His daily hike through neighbors’ sheep farms
dusts his mind, aerates his neurons
and rolls crisp–

long as the hills tumble green
with moss-padding deer,
caws carrying gaiety
over the hours, sometimes damp.

First draft posted to WHARVED on Jan 11, 2012, Entitled “#82”

Toadstool Billy – 05:04GMT

I really wish I could use my arms. Oh well…

Toss that fence somewhere else, Toadstool Billy–we don’t mean to harm you at all, honest! We love watching your antics and learning from your sporadic lectures, even if they come bursting into our living rooms in the middle of the night. We understand that your schedule is more nocturnal than ours, so Shelly and I are more than happy to leave a voice recorder in said living room for any extended lecturing you’d like to conduct during our sleep cycles. We really do love learning about your outlook on life, cheery or blustery. Your perspective never ceases to dazzle us with unexplored insight and colorful anecdotes, and we’re grateful to have met you.

Before we forget to ask–have you made any appearances in the neighbors’ houses? If so, have they responded kindly, or have they regarded you as more of a nuisance? We think that most other people on this block really have no appreciation for the supernatural, but we can’t be sure when the only times we interact with our neighbors are during social functions (barbecues, keggers, raves, seances, etc.) where saving face is preferable [and indeed necessary] if we’re to continue living such extraordinarily social lives.

To be honest with you, Shelly and I are very paranoid people in general. We just can’t leave well enough alone.

Sometimes I do miss people.
My foot itches.


Today I flattened a screwdriver with only the power of my mind. All I had to do was look at it with the intent to change its physical properties, and BAM, flatter than a doornail (that’s been flattened, that is). In my short time of having this ability–two weeks this Saturday–I’ve flattened objects big and small, pliable and rigid. So far I’ve flattened corkscrews, pickles, baseball cards, lawn chairs, lawn darts, lawn mowers, garden gnomes and neighborhood cats (I usually stick to backyard objects). My need to flatten is insatiable, much to the chagrin of my neighbors. I haven’t attempted to flatten people, I don’t need to get into any unnecessary trouble if I can help it.

But if I had to, I’d start with Phil from next door. The only problem is that I just know my appetite would grow uncontrollable from there. Not long after, I’d need to flatten heads of state and big business owners just to get the same rush I’d become accustomed to since flattening the likes of my lowly neighbor, whose only mark on society is the number of cable/internet/home phone bundles he’s sold. His flattening would be a merciful one.