Sunday, August 2, 2009

i don't know (this post may self-destruct)

i hear myself repeating over and over, like some freak mechanical flaw, a slot machine spitting change despite not ringing cherries: happiness postponed due to inclement weather. check back next summer [there's not even an exclamation point here.].

the coffee's been bitter lately, and the carousel with the bright lights and smiling horses throws me off as soon as the aha! peers into the dark, mirrors reflecting empty benches.

sure, i've a glob of putty to work with, though it seems stained with the past, a surefire cut-to-the-chase archaeology of the future . it's as if poor english poet, owing to the languorous after-effects of filthy forethings in the forest, stumbled in Act IV when arriving at that bit of avuncular nonsense regarding pudding and a goose, but ladies and gentlemen, i'm getting carried away.

the blue pills and red pills are best taken in the dark when nobodies watching, the projector in my mind tells me. better for marathon sessions of don't stop there, and i tend to agree. so what of this fine little space, i inquire...



  1. romance like that completely exists, as long as it is in your mind. thank you for commenting.

    your posts are intriguing...

  2. the current romance in my mind happens to be mr. green jeans from capt. kangaroo cajoling with dark diChirico shadows pasted against sun-bleached stucco.

    thanks, novel nymph.

  3. yes. but i like your globs of putty.


  4. {kablam.}

    thanks, ygwin. i'm playing with rubber gloves on. hoping i don't electrocute myself...