open orifice of the slick and puckered tongue

a dream sequence

I am not exactly who I have been or been wanting to be so when the head of household went missing I volunteered the soles of my feet to find her and bury myself into the path all the way down the candy lane until the wind blew hard and I shoved myself under cotton tablecloths with rubber ends and fashioned myself like a bow against the air tide watching while one by one the people in babydoll dresses let go and deflated like a too quick helium balloon. The colors were turquoise green and bath water blue and banana taffy yellow while I searched for the missing mistress.  And before it even all began a man in a black topcoat and tophat handed paper to his people, each written with the cursive name he warned they mustn’t lose. 

The pandemonium thumped and slumped and rumped between tooth gaps and still-healing scabs and the space between my toes, even underneath the nail of my pinky toe. Everything blew a joyous sunny storm and little by little they tore the plastic flesh off the bare room of infinite pom poms and string toys and noise clappers until there was nowhere left to hide. A little man on an icicle mobile spun the ground like an electronic stage and I pushed my palms into the gears to slow the momentum, a horizontal handstand it seems. 

And when I got to the mouth that swallowed it all the movement stopped and then came confetti and party blowers coiling and uncoiling before my eyes shut and squeezed to keep moist. And a loud voice reading the pixels on an interface, imparting the news that I had won the game for I resisted wind despite the open orifice of the slick and puckered tongue. Her I did not find.