Claws skitter on slick pavement, darting back from the swing of headlights growling past again. Brushtail between legs, ears pricked and fur bristling. Peeking out from behind a parked tire, waiting for an opening – SLAM. There is a crack and for a moment the air is heaving open, the road is splitting in two, the whole scene falling to pieces. Strings of letters, mostly consonants, trailing around the wreckage. Flecks of profanity falling into the spray of glass, dancing over dented metal. Two pieces of furious meat step out of their vehicles, faces red in the whip of rage. Movement slicing the dying dusk, everything spinning and lurching but the road is finally still. Hear the thuck of flesh on flesh as fist and head connect. Brown fox bolts across the road and disappears into the park.
I saw that man backpedalling as he sailed into the air
And the wind never ballooned him back to the earth
I took a drumstick to a picked clean ribcage
And no glockenspiel melody sounded out
I’ve kissed and I’ve kissed and no fireworks have started
I’ve danced across the world and no crowds have joined in
What else have the cartoons lied to us about?