Sunday, January 3, 2016

Any Tongue

At my age you get that nice ripple effect. It sets the stage effectively for future appointments, rehearsals, big to-dos in backyards in summer. I wish I could provoke a swan. You say there ain't any left to swindle, but that's a farmer's blowziest prerogative. Sincerely we elect to take the wrong boat to town, careful to avoid better offers. Machines do the rest, and better! One of them looks like a giant grasshopper painted black. It pokes up through the haze that covers the amazing shrinking sward.

Death is practically unthinkable in this context. That is, I wouldn't ask it into bed, despite my distant campaign promise. No nation gets out alive, and wrestling with infinity isn't a crime. Still, it's good to double-check the mechanisms; oil those joints, don't leave 'em lounging around. Pizza's here. It'll do us good to leap from roof to roof evading deputies in pursuit. One false step and they put your name in italics. Trust me, you do not want to be taken out to dinner.

If that's all, I'll be going missing. I'll be comin' around the catacomb when I have a hangnail that needs a little loving. Reading about those beat-up old explorers, I'm part of their weather now. I fly like a succulent Stuyvesant pear into the air between buildings. Shot down by sunlight, I joke my way to the next wet whisper in my ear. At one light touch of her tongue—any tongue!—I'm gone. Read the sign: "Press your luck against mine and let's make a baby cash cow shine."

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