Tuesday, May 21, 2013

4412. BLUFF

BLUFF
With her groaning, Angelica grows so
much  -  the tendrils of gnat-like vines
clinging to trees and bushes. On balance,
it's probably the time now to run away  -  
as we ourselves are blanked by balanced
transfers of Good and Bad. What you have
to say to yourself is - 'Boy, they really
don't get it, do they?'
-
 No treasure of the Sierra Madre this  - 
no flames of money blowing off into the wind.
You'd have to catch me running anyway, for that.
Instead, I will sit on this bluff, and, bluff.

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