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In memory of the forgotten: the poor Ely Sands (wealthy) of Comb, in Siene-Delti:
In a wandering treatise both collect a ransom, one from which the pile is already made where some four witches foam a riling maid. They stop, they listen, they look real good. In the sun, in the wane, wincing through the pane I see what you see, falling down again and again. And for it to come to us gently – though the answer may be stricken – is nothing short of harmony on a long wire.
July 9th, 2014: you lie in wait, the wine of two thousand men collected at your feet. The flats of the Breton, the flat fives in fête’n, the flat road less taken and the flat lives we’re spendin’. Why not? The Bayou streaks north, the bone is on the skin, the tall man in the long shorts slides you a fin, a dorsal warning that goes straight to the oil changers, a little lube that keep the sun at bay. Wine aught; no better.
But still the heat keeps coming, how could it knot? Or is it a tie that binds the mouth to the embouchure? Big and easy Hambone Chortle of the southern exposure kept slip slidin’ a way to stay big in a world that tries to minimize, marginalize, capitalize. Grand prize? Curly fries. Edit, edit, edit, until it’s all gone again. A gain?
Time to keep a-movin’. Tabula rasa. The first annual one-more-time!
Then what should I tell of a nomadic child of Rome, fully grown and sprung from the muddy banks of Earth’s aorta and onto the world stage? An incendiary that goes off and off and off but never explodes? Otherwise: everything. You know I found out. Tamasheq tidene – one, two. Three:
Ah, but the meat and potatoes of this Vegemite sandwich Is found down under the dusty hill, beneath the coniferi betwixt the mixed and behind the back of your mind. Certainly beside the point, but we both know that. By now we must know that. Wrap it up! The waning draining de-braining ain’t safe or sane to be out this late so it sure isn’t about to stop anytime soon. Be real! Dylan did the math a hundred years ago and these guys are just picking up the pieces. So many broken pieces. There was really no need to stick around. In verse wen’t I t’new ersev ni.
It wasn’t not a Wednesday (after all) and it had all came at me backwards. Imagine that.
Todd Man Out 