The Cougar Review

By Ictalurus

Good artists steal but must add their own riff to have identity. I believe someone else is inside me, waiting for me to be alone when it won’t be strange to talk to myself. When I’m alone at last, they’ll come humming, blue light purring over me as I try to copy what I see in art for lack of exposure. Eventually, they’ll overtake it, and I’ll be colors inside a wired Glaser silhouette |

summer green

electric blue

kool-aid red.

We’ll go further than ever into a private friend society where shopping centers are planets and smiles are unneeded. I want a drug that’ll make me sick. I’m a fox storing goose eggs for winter.