there is no better time to be a writer
thanks, baby's hungry, Arthur Treacher is out of business, and the cow has a knowing fear in its eye, lighting has struck the kite, the aphorism book levels the table, while something gnaws beneath the sand.
police a state
sun glare You would
you could What you
Caveat: step forward
you packed To see the boy
The car and adjusted The rear<>view
mirror mirror mirror
And drove straight
Ahead toward the moon side of day
Your eyes forward
Avoiding the look
In my eye Asking
for plot and things
that would not
He read Supermarket (in of whereevah) California. And listened, further down(up) the page(screen) with no continued need to communicate. Cheaply the glossed monthlies arrived, and he wondered if he needed (caffeine-nicotine) to ponderously peruse (peaches, penumbras) or certain cicadas and crickets that would not diminish their quiet fight as great ribbons X'd the frosty sky.
There is opportunity in all of this.
Oh the list of loving it so. Shadows.
The pace picked up: two great horses with cloth snugged over eyes, off the pounding dirt leapt flashbulbs x hundreds rose petals
le petite bourgeoisie flowered towered hands in concrete discipline
At a specific time and place, Lloyd's of London sponsored the human race. Cotton candy was served on white cones, a man was seen stuffing his mouth, his cheeks filled with mashed potatoes, others, in sunglasses, did pretty darn incredible hotly limbered backward spins (synchronised, wonderfully) all of the brass healthy.
I seriously enjoyed the most of it, mastering a vertical salute-wave-cool.
I called back the dogs of war, gave aphrodisiacs to the affectionate horde.
I left with just enough bus fare, cuffed black slacks, black vinyl jacket.
I thirsted for red, while you watched factories reflect hued colors, night.
I smelled popcorn, cologne, a blue-collared kid's nerves, Babylon tickets.
I published a series, Gin and Yoga; and thought about you gone forever.
I never lost that fear and planned not to worry of the one you do not see.
I actually burned the draft aside aluminum cans, a gentle pyre protest.
I have the same penchant spontaneous dance (a predilection) especially up-stairs.
I am not sure where that came from yet it tends to animate perceived dullness.
I enjoyed your telephone call when you spoke of mite-sized pills and nano cures.
I am perplexed that the sustained irony flashes back inopportuneness-ly, Leroy.
I am not bitter, I am not invisible, I am you. I denounce the lack of work. Water.
I do not get paid to type, speak, observe, drive forty-five minutes in glare, wrap.
I know it was an awful way to go and I saved your mirror glasses in case you appear.
I want you to know that I am taking notes deeply in the eleven, something you sense.
I really miss that night when Leonard Cohen said it is important to resist even if we don't.
I spent hours already this year just listening to K.D. Lang's Hallelujah. Barefooted, indeed.
I have taken work shoveling snow for the city, and should get appropriate non-skid footwear.
I miss you dearly, the way you spoke of the Ides of March, theatrically: your eyes smiling blue.
I do not believe that Dixon, Illinois even had seventy-seven people "in the day." I believe in you.
I want you to sit there and type as I stop enjoying the recollection of a particular sound, untrue.
I stand absolute and will take orange juice only in seventy-two hours, he lied, needs mumba, Ella.
I miss all of it! That wonderful short short how you fell through the briar surprising the bear.
I want to see that old black magic, and stand outside that suite of Miro's, autumn a thought.
I am nostalgic for that gap twix your teeth, it was late summer, kinda cool, dank, breezy maybe. Pretty day.
I want you to know that I heard you screaming, but you know, I cannot be two places, once upon.