1/02/2005

Ball sack's café

We wandered past water, got watered in the process; the rain cold and annoying like my voice in winter. Patience is a virtue, and it takes a lot out of me, it hands me over to quarantine, it belittles my enemy, gets read about in magazines. I won’t suffer any more, said the shrew to the dragon, I shan’t unlock this door, said Polyphemus to Odysseus. I can’t write any more, said the penman to the blind man. I was a stylist, pass me my stylo, I write high, I hang low, I swing and fly, I do not know.

Olympic snacks stuck to my back, the brittle bones of garden gnomes, the yellow ticks that bite my neck, the what-the-heys and how-the-hecks. Pumpernickel aubergines, Vecchio Frak and clandestini, we are slaves who work in kitchens, sweaty days and black decisions. Karl’s popping after punch out, someone squat had left their lunch out, overnight it starts to smell, it begins aright and ends, oh well. I was happy when I was sleeping, it’s winter time but roofs are leaking, this vehicle drenched in the middle of the day can’t speed me off or on my way.

Pickle breath and happy jets, the airlines fight for foreign debt, the Chinese banks one day collect. Inuits with intuition, jumbo jets and shrimp with lemon. Cinnamon and dill weed spices, I cannot smell the beast or bison, I am groaning in a tube, my toothpaste squishy, oily lube, the Flames were great because of Loob, click on the net and there’s a boob - the censors have a field day.

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