Sunday, December 21, 2008

That Final Calypso

My kind of telephone is blue and never rings. In that there's a country she never visits, let's go there as well. The only functions worth adverting to are those relating to the stomach.

That kid is always using a spatula to move ground water. When the snow begins the air thins to a fine silence like Q-tips falling off a counter. The rates of exchange merit no curse.

I am ancient, said the turtle, the blind room of its eyes signaling a willingness to depart. All grace is accidental, as I so often write, he wrote. Over and under, laughter and tears, the glue secures our twin roles as confidant and dispraiser.

The tariff rose with each session, making any kind of progress difficult. It was hard to see the pyramid, the wind was blowing so fiercely. Travelers heading to that specific north were advised to make use of scat.

Each of us has a role here. Of that final calypso I will say but little. Take that which is your due.

For what other reason can a donut be said to exist? The highway sign read Memphis and in that moment he realized at last that he was no longer at home. Modern is as modern does to most dwellers of the grim corporate city.

Whose voice is that lifted in praise songs? Who smelling of what height can sing a man home?

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