In the new motor oil, I found your crumpled jute tote bag. I looked for you through the lilacs and red briars, but already there was nothing but a hallway of feathers where you’d run through the stiff.
It was the kind of Southern summer where old masculine air hangs on you like a mink stole made of unwanted tongue. My house got moldy, and then my hair. The mold was a spider on a crucifix. I burned it and my eyes in silence with bleach until only the whites showed. -Tay --------------------------------------------------- http://www.tayarrowsherman.com/ http://www.olio-academy.com/ --------------------------------------------------- _______________________________________________ Five7Five mailing list [email protected] http://www.pairlist.net/mailman/listinfo/five7five
