MILK TRUCK
Stinging reprimand. Lactose withdrawl. Exhaust-Fume deposit. A Dog Purpose. He's hiding in the milk truck. Biding his time buried deep between lines in the morning paper. He says, "I Like Milk". He says, "I Drink Milk", "I Turned The Screw". I found the grave of a year under rain. He wants his CNN T-shirt to fence his flesh. The slugs and the centipedes. The spiders and the slime. He's gotten into rewrites. Forgotten where he's been. Began the new ice age absent of his sanity. His horsedrawn covered carriage of freedom and hate. Built a bachelor's apartment in the back of a milk truck. Surrounded himself with death so that he could live happily. He has only 3 walls and a door he'd claim. "You need four walls to remain sane". And this dripping cadaver has aged a hundred years in twelve months. It's gruesome. And it's the first of many to come.
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