SHIVA

BY DANIEL PRAVDA

when i threw the guitar off the tenth floor roof, i pictured how far it would go: carried by wind and my baseball swing, it could have sailed across the parking lot and over the 4-lane street into and through the front glass of city hall. when i threw the guitar off the tenth floor roof, i could say the glant guitar flew through the lobby of city hall–security sleeping–smashing the front door of the mayor and spanking him literally off his ass and rededicated to the people. in/stead she in her sheen grabbed by the gears of gravity spun like a crashing jet and broke her neck on a pallet of cinderblock amid yips and yells of glorious destruction. when i threw the guitar off the tenth floor roof,  i almost lost my balance.

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