There was a quarantine on those memories. Yellow tape and red signs tacked askew across those thresholds in thought. Caspers playing hopscotch in the attics of our lives. Little pebbles sounding so big. Numbers in every square. Telling us where it was safe to step.
Nowhere really.
Until those clothes don't fit anymore. And those closets have been exterminated of their boogeymen.
A clumsy ballet choreographed by whim. Where all the dancers are crippled.
He was counting the hens instead of the eggs. Never noticing they hadn't laid any. He was sleeping in his underwear. More stoned than dreaming. The receiver sobbing in his ear of missed opportunities. Pageants in his pants without a winner. Pissing over the details until no one cared.
His face buried so deep in the pussy. Even the ass didn't matter.
Monday
12/25/2006 11:17:00 PM
Sad Labels:
clarity
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