Friday, January 13, 2017


Before the light has died down
in the canyon, I will love you
for Easter and beyond. I put my
long-lost car in hock for this. No
one knows the difference, but I'm
really soon riding to Georgia.
I may have parked my good-sense
on the shoreline just this once  -  
and I get so tired of listening only
to reason. Take me away, filigree,
and bring me back again when 
spell-check is passe. I have no
hold for holding any longer.
My thoughts come off as venom,
a pistol-packin' mama of some
small man's demise. We've got
a three-tiered competition going
now : Pizza Time runs Taste of
Italy to Little Caesar's backward
glance. I don't know who's running,
so I can't say who's in the lead.
I gave my stamp collection to that
rabid Cub Scout who came collecting
yesterday. He wanted seven-fifty for
some random week of the Home News
Tribune. I buried his head in the basement
and diced the rest of him with my new
Popeil's...something or other, I forget.
Yugoslavian financial maven's principal
oatmeal cortisone edge. Prescribed only
by doctors whit office hours on Wednesday
evenings. You have to dip in, and you
have to dip out. It's a real quick  cut-off, 
and that cute nurse is always there.
She told me once, after reading my
stuff, 'Boy, it may not sound like
much, but you're really professional
in whatever it is you do.'

No comments: