| street carved melitta wearing a Tommy Hill-Jesus shirt and tasting like tangy snap crunch. she makes him dance in daytime circles and tells him she comes and come again as he shakes his make-believe. just wait, wait one more second� i�ll get it right, i promise�. how didn�t he see it? riding alongside her rusted yellow cheroke, how didn�t he understand it then? in the needle is the fizzy sweet pop drops of their landlord. one more second�.i�ll get it right now� garage sailing pirates make off with obese plasti-girls for a quarter behemoth vans drive circles around an inborn apartment waiting for the sweet stench of candied pig�s toes. you still don't get it�.one more try, just hold on... there is no difference between you and yours there is no difference between you and yours there is no difference between you and yours there is no difference between you and yours you're turning now and I have to scream to be heard�. cherubs at a choke and puke shoveling fries down south high on beef flavored cola they grumble with their unemployment shaking their greasy heads they ask you for another dollar. you disappear�. left behind is the death cry of sun dried frogs of pickled olives of yellow jacket kisses of secret sugar sex �it was all over so quickly� left standing is the blue haze of sleep walking days left here is the acrid valley of anorexic jibbery jaws left here is the broken music of tsunamic fetal implants left here is the long stemmed legs of vaccinated terminals. left here is you and yours. |
| excuses |