Sunday, January 27, 2013


a loosie
no chance
over-whrought w/ confusion, hysterical w/ mania, i chanced a single cigarette. happened
to have a lighter in my back pocket, so it all blows up in my smoke-screen: a deft rouse
in cleated form. i think i covered my escape previously, i think it's all on tape.
apparently i had traveled to 1987, a mr reagan lot. my mind vacationing, a rivulet in the
mirror, yet a pool beckoned out back. i had invited the gang, it was our last resort.
just jeep: a pun that runs non-stop on radio, like spright and it's a 'gem.' one last
puff before i look in the mirror. the story has been derailed, but suffice it to state
that i made it to a bathroom. relieved, i ran into i. suggs and he mentioned b. wanless,
associates in make-believe land. i didn't cry.
it's a dick of a height, a nap that's not mapped. da vinci didn't imagine flying things
this ornate, yet it happened. i peeked at a reunion, felt recrimination. call the police,
call the doctor, call the box in question.