|Posted On:||2009-01-20 13:16:02|
i saw you (there)
stumbled righteously with a fishing rod.
amused by the plastic rainbow creature
orbiting mystically at the force of your drunkenness.
your obvious toxic-helplessness welcomed me.
so, i seated a sufi position three (estimated)
metres of a slicing view to your hairless buttcrack. i waited, (a numbing time)
for interest of your reaction as to if i were an illusion (or not.)
you caught no fish, but two food-deprived
quack-filled bobbin’ ducks.
you rose heroically, forcing the cigarette cloud to slink in a hunter-nature like grey blurry wolfs.
when you released a golden fountain of diluted rum into mother-natures imaginary toilet-bowl.
(yes, i am impressed with your filter-beige impotent cucumber.)
your eyes blinked like violent butterflies.
brittle black wings held by a pale kidney-bean.
your skin carved question-marks,
which sagged into the parrot-divide:
gnarling over the upright elvis-lip.
your billy-boots farted wetly when you waddled journalistically toward me quietly-curious,
and damn confused.
“im not a vision, or an angel” i admitted.
“then what are you?”
ya’ questioned in disbelief. “im a thought-register.” i replied truthfully, with proof
(of post-its scribbled in black-ink,
littered blessfully around me, like flat-zebras
cryin’ a million tears & askin’ a million questions.)
“like a cash-register?”
you compared with wit and an inflated sense of understanding.
“yes, only without the cash.”
you told me you must be one too, expect ya’ keep gettin’ robbed!
so, i told you, ya’ blind-fox ,
i would write you a bill, and here it is!
(but) will you ever read this?
the numbers you gave me dont honk with rhythm,
so now i hiss at the dial-tone from the ripe-receiver of my banana-phone.
(all i got is potassium.)