Burns as it goes down

Rakuten Marketplace emails me repeatedly and with increasing intensity, like a scorned lover; the number of unopened messages multiplies as though by procreation, in an amount that borders on accusation. If the allegation is that I am too polite to unsubscribe, then guilty as charged. Spam, unremoved, piles in my mind in savory, wet, pink chunks. Sorry, but I crave not the meat, only the wine. Even then, it’s not the substance that I want, but the form. Shapes, being filled. Zinfandel sloshing out onto the white embroidered tablecloth. What I really want is for my mind to be filled like a chalice in the movies. I’d be drunk for the first time in years. Consequential asymmetry. We moved to this neighborhood because we were priced out of our old one. It was an ordinary Saturday when I walked past the empty dojo. Read between the lines, scratch out the message with a nail. A gut feeling that could have been missed or, worse, ignored. Stigmata on both my feet. Unconditional is the most…

Commenting on Bubbles has been removed. Why? If you want to talk about this post, write to the author, use the comments on their blog if it has them, or reply with a "RE:" post on your own blog. Suggestions? feedback@bubbles.town