The Appeal Of Discarded Orthodoxy: Tribute To David E. Williams

Morning drags and the pain will pass into boredom like your kidney stone. I phone your house with results from your post mortem, but you’re not at home. Oh, Laura, your eyes were a shallow grave and I came every night to die. "Jesus Christ, that’s tacky," she’d say. "You’re the reason that I’m blind." Mercifully she takes her husband’s head. There’s no danger in their bed. The man who burned her hair is dead. Sweet Vienna Carrion! She grins again to my chagrin. Vengeful eyes like big black balls knock down my disemboweling pins. I charm her in the kitchen, demonstrating my disease. She kicks, I kiss her soiled sole. She gloats while grating cheese.