I didn’t feel the sting…

My upper lip blew up and curled into a frozen Botox Elvis sneer. I ripped through scorching versions of Devil in Disguise, All Shook Up and Kissin’ Cousins, the King’s dubious solid gold classic about incest.

I self medicated with Benadryl and vodka and channeled Samuel Coleridge. A thousand white doves fluttered from golden cages. A camel caravan snaked through drifting sands on the trail to Timbuktu. An albatross came rapping at my chamber door.

I felt like William Burroughs. I studied the distant horizon of my toes in silhouette against the wall of the Naked Lunch Diner. Outside my window the call to prayer went out from the minaret.

I awoke to find I was not in Tangier. It didn’t seem fair. I bought the ticket and took the ride. I should have been there by now, not stuck up in the crotch of a fuzzy tree.

Ladies and Gentlemen,

Elvis has left the building!

Red Painting