FRIDAY, OR THE THIRTEENTH, TAKE YOUR PICK

You need not have a neighbor with knives for fingertips in order to believe that your luck has taken the expressway.  Some days are a wrought iron tub that simply will not hold its water.  It may be too busy dreaming of its languid cousin, the Eiffel Tower.  Or perhaps it has been used one too many times to quench the thirst of the bloodless innocents.   History is funny that way, and yet there is no "ha ha" in Halloween.  It is not widely known that Superstition only pretends to be based on numbers - She does so greedily, for selfish and secret good luck.


In my realm all the respect is given to the rock stars and the goat herders.   In order to flaunt his dexterity the black cat expertly ascends the flaming ladder then patiently waits amid the scorching tongues that lick him.  All of his hairs are on end - he waits among the forming ashes in order to drop his poo-poo and his caa-caa as I pass beneath.


I am oblivious to calendars.   The idea of signing off on the bewitching of a particular day seems ridiculous.  I know how to write, but have no name.


Is the mirror broken if I merely crack it - or is the misfortune somehow prorated?   A man fell asleep while singing at the table and when a bird flew in the window with a goldfish in its beak, the man grew a sty on his eye so big that it burst his skull.   Bone shards and seven years of misery were not far from his final thoughts.   His fork dropped and so a woman visited.   Once it begins there is no stopping it until you hear the dog's howl which of course means death.  And not just for the dog.


I have a rabbit and though he squeaks and kicks, at the first sign of trouble I will bite off his foot.  Smell dandelions, wet the bed.  Dear God in heaven, will this day never end?