Title: [X] Glowing willows (revisions are a good thing)
3:00 am.
A pair of Levi�s 501, a crude cotton shirt with subtle red snakes, Clownie appeared in the shadow --just like a shell appears on the sand when the wave is gone.
He started walking in a kind of relaxed Wehrmacht pace on the Persian carpet. On that very pace he walked on the wall, and then on the ceiling, his long hair hanging as an objet d� art lamp. He was barefoot.
�What the hell are you doing, Clownie?� �said the prince, amused, as he turned on the lights --that hippie soldat, Clownie, was his elder brother, and that room was his room.
�Walking on your ceiling, birdo� �said Clownie. He traced a sort of body Imelmann and landed slowly, smiling.
�Do you have a cigarette among your catalogue of banalities?� .
�Sure� �said the prince. He grabbed a Marlboro 100�s pack, which seemed a crashed Marlboro trailer.
They sat in the bed, watching curling girls and geckos vanishing into smoke in the yellow light.
Then Clownie stared at his brother�s eyes.
The prince saw red hanging bridges over black gulfs, impossible alphabets and a dove-dwelled belfry. All of his brother�s travels he saw and he felt a naked wild bliss. He was just like a child armed with a pellet rifle, alone in the hills in a winter morning.
The prince awoke amidst a wood of glowing willows --a distant point at the winter palace gardens.
�Bastard� �he said, smiling with a happiness powerful as ten thousand waves.
He walked back, barefoot on the grass paths, the chilling dew playing a tiny stinging music on his skin.
