Saturday, April 28, 2007

Source of brevity

Romance between the dead trees, one dry eaten land, dinner for dirt-eaters is a gift from a ribbon. The earlier country was shiny, a decoration for metal.
Old clothes w/ wrinkles came off; they were hand in hand w/ women in the dark. The forest had a roof, and in its purse the water dripped through from the upstairs apartment.
These kids of discussions, they’re here. They come in every color: the “raw-meat pink” is in. The words come in piles, which must be regularly sorted.

Sentimental brain-goop was a bowl of spaghetti when something rolled off the table and onto the floor. The dog nosed the meatball around the kitchen, covering it in a grease film which, when met by the cat’s run, sent it flying into the refrigerator door. The mailman arrived via helicopter on the roof, the dog barking wildly, the sound muffled by the meat.
Essence gave me a headache at christmas time; the pajamas were no winter coat. But what passed did so on a mitten string so as not to be uncoupled from now. The local newspaper showed the hand-made sign hanging w/ the price of lemonade, and the carrots on my jumper. But trees are removed by local governing bodies.


Post a Comment

<< Home