Friday, March 20, 2009

She was infatuated with the way that I looked.  I told her to get a hold of her brains.  "Please place yourself in my seat and pervert the wind."  Gazing at the dainty shirt of a mouse she put on her condom.  These terrot cards are marked and stuffed in my sleeves.  Taking them out one by one I slid them under my lip.  The cards were made from shells and became a tribal gauge.  Staring past my nose pearls began to form as I left dust upon washing my port.  Collecting her in my arms like a mollusk quickly escapes into his shell, she had what she needed.  Enough arms to bear her weight and stroke her hair, tie her shoes, write her memoir, carry a taco, squeeze a stress-ball, thrust a javelin, plead guilty, pursue a dream, postpone HIV, blister from standing near a steamy moment with a dried up jesus with candida.  She sat pissing on  a string tied up like a lasso.  The string then followed suit and tied itself as a lasso and gave itself to the cowboy.  Hooked to my belt.  I heard the latch of my buckle clink loose and felt the caress of the damp lasso around the dinner bell.  Raising my eyebrow, I looked down, and saw those pearls and swallowed them.  I heard my name tapping as an SOS and mistook it as an upset stomach.

1 comment:

Chicago Squish said...

I feel like the more ungodly the hour in which you type these masterpieces of abstract thought, the more brilliant they are.

I vow to discontinue encouraging you to attempt sleep before 3am.