The task before you
is to take the mood of last years
winning of the esteemed competition and tell it from a
fresh perverted angle, let’s say wobbly omniscient for starters…
Three insistent knocks distracted him, the dog went off soon after.
He got up and saw the small white van: the opioids had made it.
Earlier on while watching Idol on Parade, musing on Bowie’s heroes,
and working out when exactly the truck full of dead Chinese bought it,
he had taken an opioid to kill the pain in his oracular toe.
The original is a story of divorce and reconciliation
which when the drugs took hold ended in an aircrash caused by
a wayward roguish drone, collapses in hysterics;
Fate, predestination, and indolence hide in waiting
all contained in a white lozenge that disintegrates in water.
He drew the grid for a Celtic knot haphazardly.
There were no children involved in this thought experiment.
They had perished the night they lost it
racing to not miss the last boat leaving.
What did it matter now?
There is water under the bridge.
Beware! Loose Chippings and
That was the best thing she said