Saturday, April 22, 2017

The Little Parlour, Chagall

Sunny today. Glib wind breezin'.
All over the patch. Insides of my pockets
perspiring like jackals. Howling through
rings of smoke. Vitamins. Cooped up
Caroline. Brought me a snack. Didn't seem
pissed. There was something I did.
Remembers everything. Boiled it down. Too
tired to flush and feint, penchants, patterns.
Tick tock. Cuckoo. That's way down the
list. Chug-a-lug. Door prizes. Focused on the
the view a bit at points. That fucker drove
by again. Tailspins and testaments. Ritzy dust
jackets. She said porcelain. I chirped. Not
like that, no. It's all melted. It's gone. I
almost laid down. It's quiet right now
like a seven month dawn. Back at it.
Residuals. That was three years ago.
Scurry away 'lil Casey. Droplets nestlin'.
Sketch. I might just do that. Not today
though. Not today.

No comments:

Post a Comment