thank god for bourbon
It's Paris so there are motorbikes, green capitals one is not supposed
to be enough it's you and me smelly half moon new moon the Bedouin
will arrive speaking in tongues.
Thunder belly bombs out came
rats and steam what is the prognosis?
Running their weed-whackers at seven in the morning, no care for the
restless there are limits what does that have to do with anything?
I'm not one of them, I don't share their philosophy.
It's rectangular maybe a yard high and yea wide.
there's not a cloud in the sky
Late, late, late, late, late.
Below there is a coffee stain and I am deciding now whether to write
around it or over it. Around it. Around it I draw an outline and place
a dot on either side. There are three kinds of people.
she's gone missing
Four red police cars block entry. At least there is a breeze today the
dancers were manufactured for profane reasons. You won't like it. I
know you won't.
The problem is. never mind
A eucalyptus twig with nine withered leaves three hours sleep and the
zombie in me is the only one awake the universities are for sale.
Sublime fury falters, flickers, fades crickets, cicada maybe we will
find a better way. A replacement for our habits.
You head north, then west into the sunset again, the helicopter the
phone rings but I don't answer. No dogs allowed we enlist the mobile
paper shredders the sock monkey has died. Abandoned in the parking
lot.
There's a problem with the transmission.
red red
white gray
green
Laughing adoration for the motorbike play, plot, lot smoking-cellphone
and already getting darker earlier.
The squirrel is dead.
The crow has taken over.
