|
ain't we been usin' a little?
If the thought form's "death"
and the delight's not in life, where did it go, sods? |
Transform my rickshaw into a chariot please.
|
My cul-de-sac is a dead-end without right angles.
|
What I thought was a shelf of slate turned out to be slated muck instead.
|
One night I tried reading some Joyce, and it made sense.
The next morning, it didn't again. |
It looked solid but I fell in.
|
it needed doin'...
|
he needed killin'
|
You can't underestimate the endless cycle of the overestimate.
|
What come that from?
|
now that's the overstatement of the hour
|
and what planet
does he inhabit? |
And what color is the sky there?
|
Light, variable:
Dark & more or less constant. Hell, it's the same as yours! |
An eagle flew over my head and it squeaked.
Is still squeaking. |
There are not enough references to mucus in rock and roll.
|
Caress the trees,
shred the leaves, of well preserved, and powerful, glances. |
sounded like mucus...
|
green in and of itself.
|
"come", they say. "Kneel".
I know it's strange, but I deal. |
Cemetary things
are only mostly corpses: There are ideas. (ABR) |
The ninth circle is devine.
Jump in. The water's fine. |
The ring around my planet appreciates my humor, and returns it.
(ABR) |
the ring around my collar is less than humorous
|
The dogs of war can be a bore
The dogs of hate always berate The dogs that rate are us We are the dogs of this here fate. |
collar the shepherd
and breathe deep. |
"W" kills u.s.
& "we" don't seem to mind it: This thread fit "weapons". (ABR) |
"Weapon" is simply "love" by another name.
|
Bang bang...
Nancy Sinatra knows... I'd put up the vid, but my computer is wounded. Dalida? Cher? Bono wrote it. |
go-go boots to go.
she sits pretty. |
My cigarettes hide in the dark.
|
giggling
|
The road to hell is not paved with good intentions. It is paved with frozen tax attorneys. The devil sometimes likes to go skating.
|
I didnt know I was, but apparently I was.
innocent |
pat benatar hit alla y'all with her best shot...
|
I'm just another notch on her lipstick case.
|
my heel took on a life of its own and stepped in the sauce,
hungry for a tip of the hat. |
Achilles?
Can that be your shade? How's your foot? (My hat is feeling a little cocky right now, or I'd show it.) |
Helmets and hats and head coverings, oh my.
|
Fishnets with stiletto heels jumping stiff-legged upon my chest.
|
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