Sunday, October 23, 2011

What is Said... Later



What is Said... Later

There was a sluggish breeze off the moon.

Ecstasy-lost, they bought expensive cowboy hats to even the score.

Please don't slice grapefruit on the kitchen table.

A glass of burgundy served to remind him
of startled deer running alongside his midnight car.

Analysis: after he fucked the actress on the hood
of her red sports car, her hairy armpits did not matter.
She transitioned to singer... learned to shave.

The plush gift shop coyote with purple eyes was not cute.
So he bought it for his dog to rip apart.

The rental cabins alongside the road had no running water.
But the girl had vintage lingerie and champagne to pop open.

Worst fear?  Ending life as a security guard at an onion soup factory.

I do not hard-boil eggs for you to throw them off
a strike zone painted on a stupid barn.

He eventually learned that marriage is not an old time TV beer commercial.

He awoke each morning like a 9-rounds-weary boxer.

That was his stalled-in-brain sadness
taking a nasty dump between his ear holes.

An actress-singer he once fucked phoned before dawn,
You were right after all... about one thing:
Canadian pineapple pizza is awesome.

He grew to love the smell of graveyard sagebrush.

Your dog does not need lathering-up with fancy
bubblebath shampoo once a summer month.

The longer he was separated from the prairie,
the less he thought dark chocolate was a cure for anything.

Roadside bar fights were redemptive...
even when he was properly thrashed.
















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