Monday, July 25, 2022

14,453. UNDER PRESSURE, EVERYTHING SPRAYS

 UNDER PRESSURE, 
EVERYTHING SPRAYS
When the gutturals start to talk
you know I won't be listening: 
Those outside lights are too shiny
for me. Up here I just look down at
 the water and realize I'm treetops
to it. Funny feeling; a thousand
feet off and a hundred feet high.
-
Some grimy motorcycle enters
the scene and I can hear it a half
mile away : The fools with the radios
are the worst. It emanates, like that
skunk right now sending forth its
rough perfume. Where is that, and
how's it go?
-
Under pressure, everything sprays.
Even the lips, twisting around the
gutturals, manage to leave their
sprays behind. I can't tell you what
I mean, until I really mean it.

No comments: